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Shakespeare,  William 
Macbeth 

Contents 


Macbeth 

The  merchant  of  Venice 

Much  ado  about  nothing 

Othello 

Othello 

Othello 


Contis. 


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MACBETH. 

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MACBETH. 


MACBETH 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE. 


Duncan,  king  of  Scotland. 
Malcolm,  rhit,„nri<5 
Donalbain,  f ms  sons- 
Macbeth,  l generals  of  the  king’s 
Banquo,  f army. 

Macduff,  1 
Lennox 

Ross,  I noblemen  of  Scot- 

Menteith,  [ land. 

Angus, 

Caithness,  J 
' Fleance,  son  to  Ban  quo. 

Siward,  Earl  of  Northumberland, 
general  of  the  English  forces. 
Young  Siward,  his  son. 

Seyton,  an  officer  attending  on 
Macbeth. 


Boy,  son  to  Macduff. 

An  English  Doctor. 

A Scotch  Doctor. 

A Soldier. 

A Porter. 

An  old  Man. 

Lady  Macbeth 
Lady  Macduff. 

Gentlewoman  attending  on  Lady 
Macbeth. 

Hecate. 

Three  Witches: 
Apx>aritions. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Sol- 
diers, Murderers,  Attendants, 
and  Messengers. 


Scene  : Scotland  : England . 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.  A desert  place. 

Thunder  and  lightning.  Enter  three  Witches. 

First  Witch.  When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain? 

Sec.  Witch.  When  the  hurly burly’s  done, 

When  the  battle’s  lost  and  won. 

Third,  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  the  set  of  sun. 
First  Witch.  Where  the  place? 

Sec.  Witch . Upon  the  heath. 

Third  Witch.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 

First  Witch.  I come,  Gi^malkin! 

Sec.  Witch.  Paddock  calls. 

Third  Witch.  Anon. 

All.  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair: 

Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air. 

(201) 


10 

[ Exeunt . 


202 


MACBETH. 


[act  I. 


Scene  II.  A camp  near  Forres. 

Alarum  within.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 

Lennox,  with  Attendants,  meeting  a bleeding  Sergeant. 

Dun . What  bloody  man  is  that?  He  can  report, 

As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 
The  newest  state. 

Mai.  This  is  the  sergeant 

Who  like  a good  and  hardy  soldier  fought 
’Gainst  my  captivity.  Hail,  brave  friend! 

Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Ser.  Doubtful  it  stood ; 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together 
And  choke  their  art.  The  merciless  Macdonwald — 

W ort.hy  to  be  a rebel,  for  to  that  10 

The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 
Do  swarm  upon  him — from  the  western  isles 
Of  kerns  and  gallow^ glasses  is  supplied; 

And  fortune,  on  his  damned  quarrel  smiling, 

Sliow’d  like  a rebel’s  whore:  but  all’s  too  weak: 

For  brave  Macbeth — well  he  deserves  that  name — 
Disdaining  fortune,  with  his  brandish’d  steel, 

Which  smoked  with  bloody  execution, 

Like  valour’s  minion  carved  out  his  passage 

Till  he  faced  the  slave;  20 

f And  ne’er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him, 

Till  he  unseam’d  him  from  the  nave  to  the  chaps. 

And  fix’d  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 

Dun.  O valiant  cousin!  worthy  gentleman! 

Ser.  As  whence  the  sun  ’gins  his  reflection 
Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break, 

So  from  that  spring  whence  comfort  seem’d  to  come 
Discomfort  swells.  Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark: 

No  sooner  justice  had  with  valour  arm’d 

Compell’d  these  skipping  kerns  to  trust  their  heels,  30 

But  the  Norweyan  lord  surveying  vantage, 

With  furbish’d  arms  and  new  supplies  of  men 
Began  a fresh  assault. 

Dun.  Dismay’d  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo? 

Ser.  Yes; 

As  sparrows  eagles,  or  the  hare  the  lion. 

If  I say  sooth,  I must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharged  with  double  cracks,  so  they 
Doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe: 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


203 


Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds, 

Or  memorize  another  Golgotha,  40 

I cannot  tell. 

But  I am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  help. 

Dan.  So  well  thy  words  become  thee  as  thy  wounds; 
They  smack  of  honour  both.  Go  get  him  surgeons. 

[Exit  Sergeant , attended . 

Who  comes  here? 

Enter  Ross. 

Mai.  The  worthy  thane  of  Ross. 

Len.  What  a haste  looks  through  his  eyes ! So  should  he 
look 

That  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 

Boss.  God  save  the  king ! 

Dun.  Whence  earnest  thou,  worthy  thane? 

Boss.  From  Fife,  great  king; 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout  the  sky 
And  fan  our  people  cold.  Norway  himself,  50 

With  terrible  numbers, 

Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  traitor 

The  thane  of  Cawdor,  began  a dismal  conflict; 

Till  that  Bellona’s  bridegroom,  lapp’d  in  proof, 

Confronted  him  with  self-comparisons^ 

Point  against  point  rebellious,  arm  ’gainst  arm, 

Curbing  his  lavish  spirit*  and,  to  conclude, 

The  victory  fell  on  us. 

Dan.  Great  happiness! 

Boss.  That  now 

Sweno,  the  Norways’  king,  craves  composition; 

Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men  60 

Till  he  disbursed  at  Saint  Colme’s  inch 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 

Dun.  No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  bosom  interest:  go  pronounce  his  present  death, 

And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth. 

Boss.  I’ll  see  it  done. 

Dan.  What  he  hath  lost  noble  Macbeth  hath  won. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  A heath  near  Forres. 

Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch.  Where  hast  thou  been,  sister? 

Sec . Witch.  Killing  swine. 

Ihird  Witch.  Sister,  where  thou? 

First  Witch.  A sailor’s  wife  had  chestnuts  in  her  lap, 


MACBETH. 


204 


[ACT  I. 


And  munch’d,  and  munch’d,  and  munch'd: — “ Give  me,” 
quoth  I : 

‘ Aroint  thee,  witch!”  the  rump-fed  ronyon  cries. 

Her  husband’s  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o’  the  Tiger: 

But  in  a sieve  I’ll  thither  sail, 

And,  like  a rat  without  a tail, 

I’ll  do,  I’ll  do,  and  I’ll  do.  10 

Sec.  Witch.  I’ll  give  thee  a wind. 

First  Witch.  Thou’rt  kind. 

Third  Witch.  And  I another. 

First  Witch.  I myself  have  all  the  other, 

And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I’  the  shipman’s  card. 

I will  drain  him  dry  as  hay: 

Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 

Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid;  20 

He  shall  live  a man  forbid*: 

"Weary  se’nnights  nine  times  nine 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak  and  pine: 

Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 

Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-tost. 

Look  what  I have. 

Sec.  Witch.  Show  me,  show  me. 

First  Witch.  Here  I have  a pilot’s  thumb, 

Wreck’d  as  homeward  he  did  come.  [ Drum  icithin. 

Third  Witch.  A.  drum,  a drum!  30 

Macbeth  doth  come. 

All.  The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 

Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 

Thus  do  go  about,  about: 

Thrice  to  thine  and  thrice  to  mine 
And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine. 

Peace!  the  charm’s  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo, 


Macb.  So  foul  and  fair  a day  I have  not  seen. 

Ban.  How  fair  is’t  call’d  to  Forres?  What  are  these 
Bo  wither’d  and  so  wild  in  their  attire,  40 

That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o’  the  earth, 

And  yet  are  on’t?  Live  you?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question?  You  seem  to  understand  me, 

By  each  at  once  her  chappy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips:  you  should  be  women. 

And  }ret  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

Macb.  Speak,  if  you  can:  what  are  you? 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


205 


First  Witch.  All  liail,  Macbeth!  bail  to  thee,  thane  of 
Glamis! 

Sec.  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  hail  to  thee,  thane  of 
Cawdor! 

Third  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth,  thou  shalt  be  king  here- 
after! t 50 

Ban.  Good  sir,  why  do  you  start ; and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair?  I’  the  name  of  truth, 

Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  ye  show?  My  noble  partner 
You  greet  with  present  grace  and  great  prediction 
Of  noble  having  and  of  royal  hope, 

That  he  seems  rapt  withal:  to  me  you  speak  not. 

If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 

And  say  which  grain  will  grow  and  which  will  not, 

Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear  60 

Your  favours  nor  your  hate. 

First  Witch.  Hail ! 

Sec.  Witch.  Hail! 

Third  Witch.  Hail! 

First  Witch.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

Sec.  Witch.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

Third  Witch.  Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be  none: 
So  all  hail,  Macbeth  and  Banquo! 

First  Witch.  Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  hail! 

Macb.  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more:  70 

By  Sinel’s  death  I know  I am  thane  of  Glamis; 

But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 

A prosperous  gentleman;  and  to  be  king 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief, 

No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.  Say  from  wdience 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence?  or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetic  greeting?  Speak,  I charge  you. 

[ Witches  vanish . 

Ban.  The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  water  has, 

And  these  are  of  them.  Whither  are  they  vanish’d?  80 

Macb.  Into  the  air;  and  what  seem’d  corporal  melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind.  Would  they  had  stay’d! 

Ban.  Were  such  things  here  as  we  do  speak  about? 

Or  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner? 

Macb.  Your  children  shall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

Macb.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too:  went  it  not  so? 

Ban . To  the  selfsame  tune  and  words.  Who’s  here? 

Enter  Ross  and  Angus. 


206 


MACBETH. 


[ACT  I. 


Boss.  The  king  hath  happily  received,  Macbeth, 

The  news  of  thy  success;  and  when  he  reads  90 

Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels’  tight, 

His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend 
Which  should  be  thine  or  his:  silenced  with  that, 

In  viewing  o’er  the  rest/)’  the  selfsame  day, 

He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks, 

Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make, 

Strange  images  of  death.  As  thick  as  hail 
Came  post  with  post;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom’s  great  defence, 

And  pour’d  them  down  before  him. 

Ang.  We  are  sent  100 

To  give  thee  from  our  royal  master  thanks; 

Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight, 

Not  pay  thee. 

Boss.  And,  for  an  earnest  of  a greater  honour, 

He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  thane  of  Cawdor: 

In  which  addition,  hail,  most  worthy  thane! 

For  it  is  thine. 

Ban.  What,  can  the  devil  speak  true? 

Macb.  The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives:  why  do  you  dress  me 
In  borrow’d  robes? 

Ang.  Who  was  the  thane  lives  yet; 

But  under  heavy  judgement  bears  that  life  110 

Which  he  deserves  to  lose.  Whether  he  was  combined 
With  those  of  Norway,  or  did  line  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and  vantage,  or  that  with  both 
He  labour’d  in  his  county’s  wreck,  I know  not; 

But  treasons  capital,  confess’d  and  proved, 

Have  overthrown  him. 

Macb.  [Aside]  Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cav'd  or! 

The  greatest  is  behind.  [To  Boss  and  Angus ] Thanks  for 
your  pains. 

[To  Ban.]  Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me 
Promised  no  less  to  them? 

Ban.  That  trusted  home  120 

Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown, 

Besides  the  thane  of  Cawdor.  But  ’tis  strange: 

And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 

The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 

Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray’s 
In  deepest  consequence. 

Cousins,  a word,  I pray  you. 

Mach.  [Aside]  Two  truths  are  told, 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 


SCENE  IV.] 


MACBETH. 


207 


Of  the  imperial  theme. — I thank  you,  gentlemen. 

[Aside]  This  supernatural  soliciting  130 

Cannot  be  ill,  cannot  be  good:  if  ill, 

Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 

Commencing  in  a truth?  I am  thane  of  Cawdor: 

If  good,  why  do  I yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 

Against  the  use  of  nature?  Present  fears 

Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings- 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 

Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function  140 

Is  smother’d  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is 
But  what  is  not. 

Ban.  Look,  how  our  partner’s  rapt. 

Macb.  [Aside]  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance 
may  crown  me, 

Without  my  stir. 

Ban.  New  honours  come  upon  him, 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave  not  to  their  mould 
But  with  the  aid  of  use. 

Macb.  [Aside]  Come  what  come  may, 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

Ban.  Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Macb.  Give  me  your  favour:  my  dull  brain  was  wrought 
With  things  forgotten.  Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains  150 
Are  register’d  where  every  day  I turn 
The  leaf  to  re^id  them.  Let  us  toward  the  king. 

Think  upon  what  hath  chanced,  and,  at  more  time, 

The  interim  having  weigh’d  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 

Ban.  Very  gladly. 

Macb.  Till  then,  enough.  Come,"  friends.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  Lennox, 
and  Attendants. 

Bun.  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor?  Are  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  return’d 

Mad.  ' M}r  liege, 

They  are  not  yet  come  back.  But  I have  spoke 
With  one  that  saw  him  die:  who  did  report 
That  very  frankly  he  confess’d  his  treasons, 

Implored  your  highness’  pardon  and  set  forth 
A deep  repentance : nothing  in  his  life 


208 


MACBETH. 


[act  I. 


Became  him  like  the  leaving  it;  he  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  owed, 

As  ’twere  a careless  trifle. 

Dun.  There’s  no  art 

To  find  the  mind’s  construction  in  the  face; 

He  was  a gentleman  on  whom  I built 
An  absolute  trust. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Ross,  and  Angus. 

O worthiest  cousin! 

The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 
Was  heavy  on  me:  thou  art  so  far  before 
That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 
To  overtake  thee.  Would  thou  liadst  less  deserved, 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 
Might  have  been  mine!  only  I have  left  to  say, 

More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

Macb.  The  service  and. the  loyalty  I owe, 

In  doing  it,  pa}^s  itself.  Your  highness’  part 

Is  to  receive  our  duties;  and  our  duties 

Are  to  your  throne  and  state  children  and  servants, 

Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every  thing 

Safe  toward  your  love  and  honour. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither: 

I have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing.  Noble  Banquo, 

That  hast  no  less  deserved,  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so,  let  me  infold  tliee 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban.  There  if  I grow, 

The  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun.  My  plenteous  joys. 

Wanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves 
in  drops  of  sorrow.  Sans,  kinsmen,  thanes, 

And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know 
We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest,  Malcolm,  whom  we  name  hereafter 
The  Prince  of  Cumberland;  which  honour  must 
Not  unaccompanied  invest  him  only, 

But  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine 
On  all  deservers.  From  hence  to  Inverness, 

And  bind  us  further  to  you. 

Macb.  The  rest  is  labour,  which  is  not  used  for  you: 
I’ll  be  myself  the  harbinger  and  make  joyful 
The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach; 

Bo  humbly  take  my  leave. 


10 

20 

80 

40 


SCENE  V.] 


MACBETH. 


209 


Dun.  My- worthy  Cawdor! 

Mach.  [Aside]  The  Prince  of  Cumberland!  that  is  a step 
On  which  I must  fall  down,  or  else  o’erleap, 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.  Stars,  hide  your  tires;  50 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires: 

The  eye  wink  at  the  hand;  yet  let  that  be, 

Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.  [Exit. 

Dun.  True,  worthy  Banquo;  he  is  full  so  valiant, 

And  in  his  commendations  I am  fed; 

It  is  a banquet  to  me.  Let’s  after  him, 

Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome: 

It  is  a peerless  kinsman.  [Flourish.  Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  Inverness.  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading  a letter. 

Lady  M.  **  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success:  and  I 
have  learned  by  the  perfectest  report,  they  have  more  in 
them  than  mortal  knowledge.  When  I burned  in  desire 
to  question  them  further,  they  made  themselves  air,  into 
which  they  vanished.  Whiles  I stood  rapt  in  the  wonder 
of  it,,  came  missives  from  the  king,  who  all-hailed  me 
‘Thane  of  Cawdor;’  by  which  title,  before,  these  weird 
sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  me  to  the  coming  on  of 
time,  with  ‘Hail,  king  that  shalt  be!’  This  have  I 
thought  good  to  deliver  thee,  ray  dearest  partner  of  great- 
ness, that  thou  mightst  not  lose  the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by 
being  ignorant  of  what  greatness  is  promised  thee.  Lay  it 
to  thy  heart,  and  farewell.” 

Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor;  and  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised:  yet  do  I fear  thy  nature; 

It  is  too  full  o’  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way:  thou  wouldst  be  great; 

Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without  20 

The  illness  should  attend  it:  what  thou  wouldst  highly, 
That  wouldst  thou  liolily,  wouldst  not  play  false, 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win:  thou’ldst  have,  great 
Glamis, 

That  which  cries  “ Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it; 

And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 

Than  wishest  should  be  undone,”  Hie  thee  hither, 

That  I may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear; 

And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 

Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem  30 

To  have  thee  crown’d  withal. 

Enter  a Messenger. 


210 


MACBETH. 


[act  I. 


What  is  your  tidings? 

Mess.  The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Thou’rtmad  to  say  it: 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him?  who,  wer’t  so, 

W ould  have  inform’d  for  preparation. 

Mess.  So  please  you,  it  is  true:  our  thane  is  coming: 

One  of  my -fellows  had  the  speed  of  him, 

Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  * Give  him  tending; 

He  brings  great  news.  [ Exit  Messenger. 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 

That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan  40 

Under  my  battlements.  Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here, 

And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty!  make  thick  my  blood; 

Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse, 

That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  effect  and  it!  Come  to  my  woman’s  breasts, 

And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances  50 

You  wait  on  nature’s  mischief!  Come,  thick  night, 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 

That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 

To  cry  “Hold,  hold!” 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Great  Glamis!  worthy  Cawdor! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter! 

Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
Tins  ignorant  present,  and  I feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macb.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  And  when  goes  hence?  60 

Macb.  To-morrow,  as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.  O,  never 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see! 

Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a book  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters.  To  beguile  the  time, 

Look  like  the  time;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 

Your  hand,  your  tongue:  look  like  the  innocent  flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under ’t.  He  that’s  coming 
Must  be  provided  for:  and  you  shall  put 


SCENE  VI.] 


MACBETH. 


211 


This  night’s  great  business  into  my  dispatch; 

Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come  70 

Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

Mach.  We  will  speak  further. 

LadyM.  Only  look  up  clear; 

To  alter  favour  ever  is  to  fear: 

Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.  Before  Macbeth's  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donal- 
bain,  Banquq,  Lennox,  Macduff,  Ross,  Angus,  and 
Attendants. 

Dun.  This  castle  hath  a pleasant  seat ; the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Ban.  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 

By  his  loved  mansionry,  that  the  heaven’s  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze, 

Buttress,  nor  coign  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed  and  procreant  cradle: 

Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I have  observed, 

The  air  is  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Dun.  See,  see,  our  honour’d  hostess!  10 

The  love  that  follows  us  sometime  is  our  trouble, 

Which  still  we  thank  as  love.  Herein  I teach  you 
How  you  shall  bid  God  ’ild  us  for  your  pains, 

And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 

Lady  M.  All  our  service 

In  every  point  twice  done  and  then  done  double 
Were  poor  and  single  business  to  contend 
Against  those  honours  deep  and  broad  wherewith 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house:  for  those  of  old, 

And  the  late  dignities  heap’d  up  to  them, 

We  rest  your  hermits. 

Dun.  Where’s  the  thane  of  Cawdor?  20 

We  coursed  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor:  but  he  rides  well; 

And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  his  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  home  before  us.  Fair  and  noble  hostess, 

We  are  vour  guest  to-night. 

Lodi)  M.  Your  servants  ever 

Have  theirs,  themselves  and  what  is  theirs,  in  compt, 


212 


MACBETH. 


[act  I. 


To  make  their  audit  at  your  highness’  pleasure, 

Still  to  return  your  own. 

Dun.  Give  me  your  hand ; 

Conduct  me  to  mine  host:  we  love  him  highly, 

And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him.  30 

By  your  leave,  hostess.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  YII.  Macbeth's  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.  Enter  a Sewer,  and  divers  Servants 

with  dishes  and  service , and  pass  over  the  stage.  Then  enter 

Macbeth. 

Mach.  If  it  were  done  when  ’tis  done,  then  ’t'were  well 
It  were  done  quickly:  if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
■With  his  surcease  success;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here, 

But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 

We’ld  jump  the  life  to  come.  But  in  these  cases 
We  still  have  judgement  here;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor:  this  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison’d  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.  He’s  here  in  double  trust; 

First,  as  I am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 

Strong  both  against  the  deed;  then,  as  his  host. 

Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 

Not  bear  the  knife  myself.  Besides,  this  Duncan 

Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 

So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 

Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 

The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off;  * 20 

And  pity,  like  a naked  new-born  babe, 

Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven’s  cherubim,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 

That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.  I have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  hut  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o’erleaps  itself 
And  falls  on  the  other. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

How  now!  what  news? 

Lady  M.  He  has  almost  supp’d : why  have  you  left  -the 
chamber? 

Mwcb.  Hath  he  ask’d  for  me? 


SCENE  VII.] 


MACBETH. 


213 


Lady  M.  Know  you  not  he  has? 

Macb.  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business: 
He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late;  and  I have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 

Which  w'ould  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 

Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk 

Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since? 
And  wrakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely?  From  this  time 
Such  I account  thy  love.  Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour 
As  thou  art  in  desire?  Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem’s!  the  ornament  of  life, 

And  live  a coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 

Letting  “I  dare  not”  wait  upon  “ I would,” 

Like  the  poor  cat  i’  the  adage? 

Macb.  Prithee,  peace: 

I dare  do  all  that  may  become  a man; 

Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 

Lady  M.  What  beast  was’t,  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me? 

When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a man; 

And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.  Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both: 

They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.  I have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  ’tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me: 

I would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face. 

Have  pluck’d  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 

And  dash’d  the  brains  out,  had  I so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macb.  If  we  should  fail? 

Lady  M.  We  fail! 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place, 

And  we’ll  not  fail.  When  Duncan  is  asleep — 
Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day’s  hard  journey 
Soundly  invite  him — his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince 
That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain, 

Shall  be  a fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A limbeck  only:  when  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie  as  in  a death, 

What  cannot  you  and  I perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan?  what  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 


30 

40 

50 

60 

70 


214 


MACBETH. 


[act  il 


Of  our  great  quell? 

Macb.  Bring  forth  men-children  only; 

For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.  Will  it  not  be  received, 

When  we  have  mark’d  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Of  bis  own  chamber  and  used  their  very  daggers, 

That  they  have  done’t? 

Lady  M.  Who  dares  receive  it  other. 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamour  roar 
Upon  his  death? 

Macb.  I am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat.  80 

Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show: 

False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I.  Court  of  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance  bearing  a torch  before  him. 

Ban.  How  goes  the  night,  boy? 

Fie.  The  moon  is  down;  I have  not  heard  the  clock. 
Ban.  And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 

Fie.  I take’t,  ’tis  later,  sir. 

Ban.  Hold,  take  my  sword.  There’s  husbandry  in 
heaven ; 

Their  candles  are  all  out.  Take  thee  that  too. 

A heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 

And  yet  I would  not  sleep:  merciful  powers, 

Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose ! 

Enter  Macbeth,  and  a Servant  with  a torch. 

Give  me  my  sword. 

Who’s  there!  10 

Macb.  A friend. 

Ban.  What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest?  The  king’s  a-bed: 

He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  offices. 

This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 

By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess;  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb.  Being  unprepared, 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect; 

Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  All’s  well. 


SCENE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


215 


I dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters:  20 

To  you  they  have  show’d  some  truth. 

Macb.  I think  not  of  them: 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 

We  would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business, 

If  you  would  grant  the  time. 

Ban.  At  your  kind’s!  leisure. 

Macb.  If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,  when  ’tis, 

It  shall  make  honour  for  you. 

Ban.  So  I lose  none 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchised  and  allegiance  clear, 

I shall  be  counsell’d. 

Macb.  Good  repose  the  while! 

Ban.  Thanks,  sir;  the  like  to  you!  30 

[. Exeunt  Banquo  and  Fleance. 

Macb.  Go  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  driuk  is  ready, 

She  strike  upon  the  bell.  Get  thee  to  bed.  [Exit  Servant . 
Is  this  a dagger  which  I see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand?  Come,  let  me  clutch  thee. 

I have  thee  not,  and  yet  I see  thee  still. 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight?  or  art  thou  but 
A dagger  of  the  mind,  a false  creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 

I see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable  40 

As  this  which  now  I draw. 

Thou  marshall’st  me  the  way  that  I was  going; 

And  such  an  instrument  I was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o’  the  other  senses. 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest;  I see  thee  still, 

And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon  gouts  of  blood. 

Which  was  not  so  before.  There’s  no  such  thing: 

It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eyes.  Now  o’er  the  one-half  world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse  50 

The  curtain’d  sleep;  witchcraft  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate’s  offerings,  and  wither’d  murder, 

Alarum’d  by  his  sentinel, fthe  wolf, 

Whose  howl’s  his  watch,  thus  wflh  his  stealthy  pace, 

With  Tarquin’s  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 
Moves  like  a ghost.  Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,,  for  fear 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it.  Whiles  I threat,  he  lives:  60 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

[A  bell  rings . 


216 


MACBETH. 


[ACT  II. 


I go,  and  it  is  done;  the  bell  invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan;  for  it  is  a knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.  The  same. 

Eater  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made 
me  bold; 

What  hath  quench’d  them  hath  given  me  fire.  Hark! 
Peace ! 

It  was  the  owl  that  shriek’d,  the  fatal  bellman, 

Which  gives  the  stern’st  good-night.  He  is  about  it: 

The  doors  are  open;  and  the  surfeited  grooms 
Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores:  I have  drugg’d  their 
possets, 

That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 

Whether  they  live  or  die. 

Mach.  [ Within]  Who’s  there?  what,  ho! 

Lady  M.  Alack,  I am  afraid  they  have  awaked,  10 
And  ’tis  not  done.  The  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confounds  us.  Hark!  I laid  their  daggers  ready; 

He  could  not  miss  ’em.  Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I had  done’t. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

My  husband! 

Mach.  I have  done  the  deed.  Didst  thou  not  hear  a 
noise? 

Lady  M.  I heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak? 

Mach.  When? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Mach.  As  I descended? 

Lady  M.  Ay. 

Mach.  Hark! 

Who  lies  i’  the  second  chamber? 

Lady  M.  Donalbain.  20 

Mach.  This  is  a sorry  sight.  [Looking  on  his  hands. 

Lady  M.  A foolish  thought,  to  say  a sorry  sight. 

Mach.  There’s  one  did  laugh  in’s  sleep,  and  one  cried 
**  Murder!” 

That  they  did  wake  each  other:  I stood  and  heard  them: 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address’d  them 
Again  to  sleep. 

"Lady  M.  There  are  two  lodged  together. 


SCENE  II.] 


MACBETIL 


217 


Mach.  One  cried  “ God  bless  us!”  and  “Amen”  the  other; 
As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman’s  hands. 
Listening  their  fear,  I could  not  say  “Amen,” 

When  they  did  say  “ God  bless  us!” 

Lady  M.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply.  30 

Mach.  But  wherefore  could  not  I pronounce  “Amen”? 

I had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  “ Allien” 

Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  M.  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

After  these  ways;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Mach.  Methought  I heard  a voice  cry  “ Sleep  no  more! 
Macbeth  does  murder  sleep,”  the  innocent  sleep, 

Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell’d  sleave  of  care, 

The  death  of  each  day’s  life,  sore  labour’s  bath, 

Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature’s  second  course, 

Chief  nourisher  in  life’s  feast, — 

Lady  M.  What  do  you  mean?  40 

Mach.  Still  it  cried  “ Sleep  no  more!”  to  all  the  house: 

“ Glamis  hath  murder’d  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more;  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more.” 

Lady  M.  Who  was  it  that  thus  cried?  Why,  worthy 
thane, 

You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things.  Go  get  some  water, 

And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 

Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place? 

They  must  lie  there:  go  carry  them;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Mctcb,  ' I’ll  go  no  more:  50 

I.  am  afraid  to  think  what  I have  done; 

Look  on’t  again  I dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose! 

Give  me  the  daggers:  the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures:  ’tis  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a painted  devil.  If  he  do  bleed, 

I’ll  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal; 

For  it  must  seem  their  guilt.  [ Exit  Knocking  within . 

Macb.  Whence  is  that  knocking? 

How  is’t  with  me,  when  every  noise  appalls  me? 

What  hands  are  here?  ha!  they  pluck  out  mine  eyes. 

Will  all  great  Neptune’s  ocean  wash  this  blood  60 

Clean  from  my  hand?  No,  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 

Making  the  green  one  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  My  hands  arc  of  your  colour;  but  I shame 


218  MACBETH.  [act  ii. 

To  wear  a heart  so  white.  [. Knocking  within .]  I hear  a 
knocking 

At  the  south  entry:  retire  we  to  our  chamber; 

A little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed: 

How  easy  is  it,  then!  Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you  unattended.  [. Knocking  within.']  Hark!  more 
knocking. 

Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us,  70 

And  show  us  to  be  watchers.  Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb.  To  know  my  deed,  ’twere  best  not  know  myself. 

[Kn  ocking  w ith  in. 

Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking!  I would  thou  couldst'. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  The  same. 

Knocking  within.  Enter  a Porter. 

Porter.  Here’s  a knocking  indeed!  If  a man  were  porter 
of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning  the  key.  [Knock- 
ing within.]  Knock,  knock,  knock!  Who’s  there,  i’  the 
name  of  Beelzebub?  Here’s  a farmer,  that  hanged  himself 
on  the  expectation  of  plenty:  come  in  time;  have  napkins 
enow  about  you:  here  you’ll  sweat  for’t.  [Knocking 
within.]  Knock,  knock!  Who’s  there,  in  the  other  devil’s 
name?  Faith,  here’s  an  equivocator,  that  could  swear  in 
both  the  scales  against  either  scale;  who  committed  trea- 
son enough  for  God’s  sake,  yet  could  not  equivocate  to 
heaven:  O,  come  in,  equivocator.  [Knocking  within.] 

Knock,  knock,  knock!  Who’s  there?  Faith,  here’s  an 
English  tailor  come  hither,  for  stealing  out  of  a French 
hose:  come  in,  tailor;  here  you  may  roast  your  goose. 
[Knocking  within.]  Knock,  knock;  never  at  quiet!  What 
are  you?  But  this  place  is  too  cold  for  hell.  I’ll  devil- 
porter  it  no  further:  I had  thought  to  have  let  in  some  of 
all  professions  that  go  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting 
bonfire.  [Knocking  icithin.]  Anon,  anon!  I pray  you, 
remember  the  porter.  [Opens  the  gate. 

Enter  Macduff  and  Lennox. 

Macd.  Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bed, 

That  you  do  lie  so  late? 

Port.  ’Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the  second  cock: 
and  drink,  sir.  is  a great  provoker  of  three  things.  29 

Macd.  What  three  things  does  drink  especially  provoke?' 
Port.  Marry,  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine.  Lech- 
ery, sir,  it  provokes,  and  unprovokes;  it  provokes  the 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


219 


desire,  but  it  takes  away  the  performance:  therefore,  much 
drink  may  be  said  to  be  an  equivocator  with  lechery:  it 
makes  him,  and  it  mars  him;  it  sets  him  on,  and  it  takes 
him  oil* ; it  persuades  him,  and  disheartens  him;  makes 
him  stand  to,  and  not  stand  to;  in  conclusion,  equivocates 
him  in  a sleep,  and,  giving  him  the  lie,  leaves  him.  40* 
Macd.  I believe  drink  gave  thee  the  lie  last  night. 

Port.  That  it  did,  sir,  i’  the  very  throat  on  me:  but  I 
requited  him  for  his  lie;  and,  I think,  being  too  strong  for 
him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs  sometime,  yet  I made  a 
shift  to  cast  him. 

Macd.  Is  thy  master  stirring? 

Enter  Macbeth. 


Our  knocking  has  awaked  him;  here  he  comes. 

Len.  Good  morrow,  noble  sir. 

Macb.  Good  morrow,  both. 

Macd.  Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane? 

Macb.  Not  yet.  50 

Macd.  He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him: 

I have  almost  slipp’d  the  hour. 

Macb.  I’ll  bring  you  to  him. 

Macd.  I know  this  is  a joyful  trouble  to  you; 

But  yet  ’tis  one. 

Macb.  The  labour  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 

This  is  the  door. 

Macd.  I’ll  make  so  bold  to  call, 

For  ’tis  my  limited  service.  [Exit. 

Len.  Goes  the  king  hence  to-day? 

Macb.  He  does : he  did  appoint  so. 

Len.  The  night  has  been  unruly : where  we  lay, 

Our  chimneys  were  blown  down;  and,  as  they  say,  60 
Lamentings  heard  i’  the  air;  strange  screams  of  death, 

And  prophesying  with  accents  terrible 
Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events 
New  hatch’d  to  the  woeful  time:  the  obscure  bird 
Clamour’d  the  livelong  night:  some  say,  the  earth 
Was  feverous  and  did  shake. 

Macb.  ’Twas  a rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A fellow  to  it. 

Re-enter  Macduff. 


Macd.  O horror,  horror,  horror! 
Cannot  conceive  nor  name  thee! 
Macb.  ) 

Len.  J 


Tongue  nor  heart 


What’s  the  matter  \ 


70 


220 


MACBETH. 


[ACT  II. 


Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece! 

Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord’s  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o’  the  building! 

Mach.  What  is’t  you  say?  the  life? 

Leu.  Mean  you  his  majesty? 

Macd.  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destrojr  your  sight 
With  a new  Gorgon:  do  not  bid  me  speak; 

See,  and  then  speak  yourselves. 

[. Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lennox. 
Awake,  awake! 

Ring  the  alarum-bell.  Murder  and  treason! 

Banquo  and  Donalbain!  Malcolm!  awake!  80 

Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death’s  counterfeit, 

And  look  on  death  itself!  up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom’s  image!  Malcolm!  Banquo! 

As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites, 

To  countenance  this  horror!  Ring  the  bell.  [Bell rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  What’s  the  business, 

That  such  a hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house?  speak,  speak! 

Macd.  O gentle  lady,  % 

’Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I can  speak: 

The  repetition,  in  a woman’s  ear,  90 

Would  murder  as  it  fell. 

Enter  Banqijo. 

O Banquo,  Banquo, 

Our  royal  master’s  murder’d! 

Lady  M.  Woe,  alas! 

What,  in  our  house? 

Ban.  Too  cruel  any  where. 

Dear  Duff,  I prithee,  contradict  thyself, 

And  say  it  is  not  so. 

Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lennox,  with  Ross. 

Mach.  Had  I but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 

I had  lived  a blessed  time;  for,  from  this  instant, 

There’s  nothing  serious  in  mortality: 

All  is  but  toys:  renown  and  grace  is  dead; 

The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees  100 

Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Don.  What  is  amiss? 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


221 


Mach.  You  are,  and  do  not  know’t: 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopp’d;  the  very  source  of  it  is  stopp  d. 

Macd.  Your  royal  father’s  murder’d. 

Mai  O,  by  whom? 

Leri.  Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem’d,  had  done’t: 
Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badged  with  blood; 

So  were  their  daggers,  which  un wiped  we  found 
Upon  their  pillows: 

They  stared,  and  were  distracted;  no  man  s life  lid 

Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

Maeb.  O,  yet  I do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 

That  I did  kill  them. 

* Macd.  Wherefore  did  you  so? 

Mach.  Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral  in  a moment?  No  man: 

The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 

Outrun  the  pauser,  reason.  Here  lay  Duncan, 

His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood; 

And  his  gash’d  stabs  look'd  like  a breach  in  nature 
For  ruin’s  wasteful  entrance:  there,  the  murderers,  1*0 
Steep’d  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breach’d  with  gore:  who  could  ref  lain, 

That  had  a heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage  to  make’s  love  known? 

Lady  M.  Help  me  hence,  hoi 

Macd.  Look  to  the  lady 

Mai.  [Aside  to  Don.]  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues, 

That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours? 

Don.  [Aside  to  Mat.]  What  should  be  spoken  here,  where 


our  fate, 

Hid  in  an  auger-hole,  may  rush,  and  seize  us? 

Let’s  away ; 

Our  tears  are  not  yet  brew’d. 

Mat.  [Aside  to  Don.]  Nor  our  strong  sorrow 
Upon  the  foot  of  motion. 

Ban.  Look  to  the  lady: 

[ Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out, , 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 

That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet, 

And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work, 

To  know  it  further.  Fears  and  scruples  shake  us: 

In  the  great  hand  of  God  I stand;  and  thence 
Against  the  undivulged  pretence  I fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macd.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  all. 


y 


222 


MACBETH. 


[act  II. 


Macb.  Let’s  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness, 

And  meet  i’  the  hall  together. 

All.  Well  contented.  140 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Malcolm  and  DonaTbain , 

Mai.  What  will  you  do?  Let’s  not  consort  with  them: 
To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office 
Which  the  false  man  does  easy.  I’ll  to  England. 

Don.  To  Ireland,  I;  our  separated  fortune 
Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer:  where  we  are, 

There’s  daggers  in  men’s  smiles:  the  near  in  blood, 

The  nearer  bloody. 

Mai.  This  murderous  shaft  that’s  shot 

Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way 
Is  to  avoid  the  aim.  Therefore,  to  horse; 

And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking,  150 

But  shift  away:  there’s  warrant  in  that  theft 

Which  steals  itself,  when  there’s  no  mercy  left.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IY.  Outside  Macbeth's  castle. 

Enter  Ross  and  an  old  Man. 

Old  M.  Threescore  and  ten  I can  remember  well: 

Within  the  volume  of  which  time  I have  seen 
Hours  dreadful  and  things  strange;  but  this  sore  night 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings. 

Ross.  Ah,  good  father, 

Thou  seest,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man’s'  act, 
Threaten  his  bloody  stage:  by  the  clock,  ’tis  day, 

And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp: 

Is’t  night’s  predominance,  or  the  day’s  shame, 

That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  entomb, 

When  living  light  should  kiss  it? 

Old  M.  ’Tis  unnatural,  10 

Even  like  the  deed  that’s  done.  On  Tuesday  last, 

A falcon,  towering  in  her  pride  of  place, 

Was  by  a mousing  owl  hawk’d  at  and  kill’d. 

Ross.  And  Duncan’s  horses — a thing  most  strange  and 
certain — 

Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race, 

Turn’d  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out. 
Contending  ’gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make 
War  with  mankind.  ' 

Old  M.  ’Tis  said  they  eat  each  other. 

Ross.  They  did  so,  to  the  amazement  of  mine  eyes 
That  look’d  upon’t.  Here  comes  the  good  Macduff.  20 

Enter  Macduff. 


SCENE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


223 


How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now? 

Macd.  Why,  see  you  not? 

Boss.  Is’t  knowm  who  did  this  more  than  bloody  deed? 
Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 

Boss.  Alas,  the  day! 

What  good  could  they  pretend? 

Macd.  They  were  suborn’d : 

Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  the  king’s  two  sons, 

Are  stol’n  away  and  fled;  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Boss.  ’Gainst  nature  still! 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  wilt  ravin  up 
Thine  own  life’s  means!  Then  ’tis  most  like 
The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth.  30 

Macd.  He  is  already  named,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  be  invested. 

Boss.  Where  is  Duncan’s  body? 

Macd.  Carried  to  Colmekill, 

The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors, 

And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Boss.  Will  you  to  Scone? 

Macd.  No,  cousin,  I’ll  to  Fife. 

Boss.  Well,  I will  thither. 

Macd.  Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  there:  adieu! 
Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new ! 

Boss.  Farewell,  father. 

Old  M.  God’s  benison  go  with  you;  and  with  those  40 
That  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  of  foes ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Enter  Banquo. 

Ban.  Thou  hast  it  now:  king,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 

As  the  weird  women  promised,  and,  I fear, 

Thou  play’dst  most  foully  for’t:  yet  it  was  said 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity, 

But  that  myself  should  be  the  root  and  father 
Of  many  kings.  If  there  come  truth  from  them — 

As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine — 

Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good, 

May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well, 

And  set  me  up  in  hope?  But  hush!  no  more.  10 

Sennet  sounded.  Enter  Macbeth,  as  king , Lady  Macbeth, 
as  queen,  Lennox,  Ross,  Lords,  Ladies,  and  Attendants. 


224 


MACBETH. 


[act  in. 


Macb.  Here’s  our  chief  guest. 

Lady  M.  If  he  had  been  forgotten. 

It  had  been  as  a gap  in  our  great  feast, 

And  all-thing  unbecoming. 

Macb.  To  night  we  hold  a solemn  supper,  sir, 

And  I’ll  request  your  presence. 

Ban.  Let  your  highness 

Command  upon  me;  to  the  which  my  duties 
Are  with  a most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macb.  Ride  you  this  afternoon? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord.  20 

Macb.  We  should  hawe  else  desired  your  good  advice. 
Which  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  prosperous, 

In  this  day’s  council;  but  we’ll  take  to-morrow. 

Is’t  far  you  ride? 

Ban.  As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 
’Twixt  this  and  supper:  go  not  my  horse  the  better, 

I must  become  a borrower  of  the  night 
For  a dark  hour  or  twain. 

Macb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban.  My  lord,  I wTill  not. 

Macb.  We  hear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow’d  30 
In  England  arid  in  Ireland,  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention:  ‘but  of  that  to-morrow, 

When  therewithal  we  shall  have  cause  of  state 
Craving  us  jointly.  Hie  you  to  horse:  adieu, 

Till  you  return  at  night.  Goes  Fleance  with  you? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord:  our  time  does  call  upon’s. 

Macb.  I wish  your  horses  swift  and  sure  of  foot; 

And  so  I do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 

Farewell.  [Exit  Banquo.  40 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time 

Till  seven  at  night:  to  make  society 

The  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 

Till  supper-time  alone:  while  then,  God  be  with  you! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth,  and  an  attendant . 
Sirrah,  a word  with  you:  attend  those  men 
Our  pleasure? 

Atten.  They  are,  my  lord,  without  the  palace  gate. 

Macb.  Bring  them  before  us.  [Exit  Attendant. 

To  be  thus  is  nothing; 

But  to  be  safely  thus. — Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep;  and  in  his  royalty  of  nature  50 

Reigns  that  which  would  be  fear’d:  ’tis  much  he  dares; 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 


SCEXE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


225 


He  hath  a wisdom  that  cloth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.  There  is  none  but  he 
Whose  being  I do  fear:  and,  under  him, 

My  Genius  is  rebuked;  as,  it  is  said, 

Mark  Antony’s  was  by  Caesar.  He  chid  the  sisters 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  king  upon  me, 

And  bade  them  speak  to  him:  then  prophet-like 

They  hail’d  him  father  to  a line  of  kings:  60 

Upon  my  head  they  placed  a fruitless  crown, 

And  put  a barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe,  * 

Thence  to  be  wrench’d  with  an  unlineal  hand, 

No  son  of  mine  succeeding.  If  t be  so, 

For  Ban qu-o’s  issue  have  I filed  my  mind; 

For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I murder’d;  % 

Put  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 
Only  for  them;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 

To  make  them  kings,  the  seed  of  Banquo  kings!  70 

Rather  than  so,  come  fate  into  the  list, 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance!  Who’s  there? 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  tioo  Murderers. 

Now  go  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. 

[ Exit  Attendant. 

Was  it  not  yesterday  wre  spoke  together? 

First  Mur.  It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 

Macb . Well  then,  now 

Have  you  consider’d  of  my  speeches?  Know 
That  it  was  he  in  the  times  past  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune,  which  you  thought  had  been 
Our  innocent  self:  this  I made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference,  pass’d  in  probation  with  you,  80 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand,  how  cross’d,  the  instru- 
ments, 

Who  wrought  with  them,  and  all  things  else  that  might 
To  half  a soul  and  to  a notion  crazed 
Say  “ Thus  did  Banquo.” 

First  Mur.  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb.  I did  so,  and  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.  Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature 
That  you  can  let  this  go?  Are  you  so  gospell’d 
To  pray  for  this  good  man  and  for  his  issue, 

Whose  heavy  hand  hath  bow’d  you  to  the  grave  90 

And  beggar’d  yours  for  ever? 

First  Mur.  We  are  men.  my  liege. 

Macb.  Ay,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men; 
shak.  in. — 8 


226 


MACBETH. 


[act  III. 


As  hounds  and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels,  curs, 
Shoughs,  water-rugs,  and  demi-wolves,  are  clept 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs:  the  valued  tile 
Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle, 

The  housekeeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 

According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 

Hath  in  him  closed;  whereby  he  does  receive 

Particular  addition,  from  the  bill  100 

That  writes  them  all  alke:  and  so  of  men. 

Now,  if  you  have  a station  in  the  file, 

Not  i’  the  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say’t; 

And  I will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms. 

Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off, 
grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us, 

Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  liis  life. 

Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

Sec.  Mur.  I am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incensed  that  I am  reckless  what  110 

I do  to  spite  the  w7orld. 

First  Mur.  And  I another 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugg’d  with  fortune, 

That  I would  set  my  life  on  any  chance, 

To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on’t. 

Mach.  Both  of  you 

Know  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 

Both  Mur.  True,  my  lord. 

Macb.  So  is  he  mine;  and  in  such  bloody  distance, 

That  every  minute  of  his  being  thrusts 

Against  my  near’st  of  life:  and  though  I could 

With  barefaced  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight 

And  bid  my  will  avouch  it,  yet  I must  not,  120 

For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine, 

Whose  loves  I may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Who  I myself  struck  down;  and  thence  it  is, 

That  I to  your  assistance  do  make  love, 

Masking  the  business  from  the  common  eye 
For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

Sec.  Mur.  We  shall,  my  lord, 

Perform  what  you  command  us. 

First  Mur.  Though  our  lives — 

Macb.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you.  Within  this  hour 
at  most 

I will  advise  you  where  to  plant  }rourselves; 

Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spy  o’  the  time,  130 

The  moment  on’t;  for’t  must  be  done  to-night. 

And  something  from  the  palace;  always  thought 


SCENE  II.] 


MACBETH. 


227 


That  I require  a clearness:  and  with  him — 

To  leave  no  rubs  nor  botches  in  the  work — 

Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 

Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father’s,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.  Resolve  yourselves  apart: 

I’ll  come  to  you  anon. 

Both  Mur.  We  are  resolved,  my  lord. 

Macb.  I’ll  call  upon  you  straight:  abide  within. 

[. Exeunt  Murderers . 140 

It  is  concluded.  Banquo,  thy  soul’s  flight, 

If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.  The  palace. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth  and  a Servant. 

Lady  M.  Is  Banquo  gone  from  court? 

Serr.  Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Say  to  the  king,  I would  attend  his  leisure 
For  a few  words. 

Serv.  Madam,  I will.  [Exit. 

Lady  M Nought’s  had,  all’s  spent, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content: 

’Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

How  now,  my  lord ! why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making, 

Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died  10 
With  them  they  think  on?  Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard:  what’s  done  is  done. 

Macb.  We  have  scotched  the  snake,  not  kill’d  it: 

She’ll  close  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 

But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds 
suffer, 

Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 
That  shake  us  nightly:  better  be  with  the  dead, 

Whom  we,  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent- to  peace,  20 

Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstasy.  Duncan  is  in  his  grave; 

After  life’s  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well; 

Treason  has  done  his  worst:  nor  steel,  nor  poison. 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 

Can  touch  him  further. 


228 


MACBETH. 


[act  m. 


Lady  M.  Come  on ; 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o’er  }mur  rugged  looks; 

Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

Macb.  So  shall  I,  love;  and  so,  I pra}r,  be  you: 

Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo : 80 

Present  him  eminence,  both  with  eye  and  tongue: 
f Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

Must  lave  our  honours  in  these  flattering  streams; 

And  make  our  faces  vizards  to  our  hearts, 

Disguising  what  they  are. 

Lady  M.  You  must  leave  this. 

Macb.  O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife! 

Thou  know’st  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 

Lady  M.  But  in  them  nature’s  copy’s  not  eterne. 

Macb.  There’s  comfort  yet;  they  are  assailable; 

Then  be  thou  jocund:  ere  the  bat  hath  flown  40 

His  cloister’d  flight,  ere  to  black  Hecate’s  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle  with  his  drowsy  hums 
Hath  rung  night’s  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What’s  to  be  done? 

Macb.  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 

Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.  Come,  seeling  night, 

Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day; 

And  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand 

Cancel  and  tear  to  pieces  that  great  bond 

Which  keeps  me  pale!  Light  thickens;  and  the  crow  50 

Makes  wflng  to  the  rooky  w ood : 

Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 

Yfhiles  night’s  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 

Thou  marvell’st  at  my  words:  but  hold  thee  still : 

Things  had  begun  make  strong  themselves  by  ill. 

So,  prithee,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  A park  near  the  palace. 

Enter  three  Murderers. 

First  Mur.  But  who  did  bid  thee  join  wflth  us? 

Third  Mur.  Macbeth. 

Sec.  Mur.  He  needs  not  our  mistrust,  since  he  delivers 
Our  offices  and  vdiat  w7e  have  to  do 
To  the  direction  just. 

First  Mur.  Then  stand  with  us. 

The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day: 

Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace 
To  gain  the  timely  inn;  and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 


SCENE  IY.] 


MACBETH. 


229 


ty 

Third  Mur.  Hark ! I hear  horses. 

Ban.  [ Within]  Give  us  a light  there,  ho ! 

Sec.  Mur.  Then  ’tis  he:  the  rest 

That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation  10 

Already  are  i’  the  court. 

First  Mur.  His  horses  go  about. 

Third  Mur.  Almost  a mile:  but  he  does  usually. 

So  all  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Sec.  Mur.  A light,  a light ! 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance  with  a torch. 

Third  Mur.  ’Tis  he. 

First  Mur.  Stand  to’t. 

Ban.  It  will  be  rain  to-night. 

First  Mur.  Let  it  come  down. 

{They  set  upon  Banquo . 

Ban.  O,  treachery!  ,Fly,  good  Fleance,  fly,  fly,  fly! 
Thou  mayst  revenge.  'O  slave!  {Dies.  Fleance  escapes. 
Third  Mur.  Who  did  strike  out  the  light? 

First  Mur.  Was’t  not  the  way? 

Third  Mur.  There’s  but  one  down;  the  son  is  fled. 

Sec.  Mur.  We  have  lost  20 

Best  half  of  our  affair. 

First  Mur.  Well,  let’s  away,  and  say  how  much  is  done. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene  IY.  The  same.  Hall  in  the  palace. 

A banquet  prepared.  Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth, 
Boss,  Lennox,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  You  know  your  own  degrees;  sit  down:  at  first 
And  last  the  hearty  welcome. 

Lords.  Thanks  to  your  majesty, 

Macb.  Ourself  will  mingle  with  society, 

And  play  the  humble  host. 

Our  hostess  keeps  her  state,  but  in  best  time 
We  will  require  her  welcome. 

Lady  M.  Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our  friends; 

For  my  heart  speaks  they  are  welcome. 

First  Murderer  appears  at  the  door. 

Macb.  See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  hearts’  thanks. 
Both  sides  are  even;  here  I’ll  sit  i’  the  midst:  10 

Be  large  in  mirth;  anon  we’ll  drink  a measure 
The  table  round.  {Approaching  the  door]  There’s  blood 
upon  thy  face. 


230 


MACBETH. 


[act  nr. 


Mur.  ’Tis  Banquo’s  then* 

Mach.  ’Tis  better  thee  without  than  he  within. 

Is  he  dispatch’d? 

Mur.  My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut;  that  I did  for  him. 

Macb.  Thou  art  the  best  o’  the  cut-throats:  yet  he’s  good 
That  did  the  like  for  Fleance:  if  thou  didst  it, 

Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur.  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  ’scaped.  20 

Macb.  Then  comes  my  tit  again:  I had  else  been  perfect, 
Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock, 

As  broad  and  general  as  the  casing  air: 

But  now  I am  cabin’d,  cribb’d,  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears.  But  Banquo’s  safe? 

Mur.  Ay,  my  good  lord:  safe  in  a ditch  he  bides. 

With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head; 

The  least  a death  to  nature. 

Macb.  Thanks  for  that : 

There  the  growTn  serpent  lies;  the  worm  that’s  fled 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed,  80 

No  teeth  for  the  present.  Get  thee  gone:  to-morrow 
We’ll  hear,  ourselves,  again.  [Exit  Murderer. 

Lady  M.  My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer:  the  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouch’d,  while  ’tis  a-making, 

’Tis  given  with  welcome:  to  feed  v7ere  best  at  home; 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony; 

Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Macb.  S’weet  remembrancer! 

Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 

And  health  on  both ! 

Len.  May’t  please  your  highness  sit. 

[ The  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters , and  sits  in  Macbeth’s  place. 

Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  country’s  honour  roof’d, 
Were  the  graced  person  of  our  Banquo  present;  41 

Who  may  I rather  challenge  for  unkindness 
Than  pity  for  mischance! 

Boss.  9 His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame  upon  his  promise.  Please’t  your  highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company. 

Macb.  The  table’s  full. 

Len.  Here  is  a place  reserved,  sir. 

Mach.  Where? 

Len.  Here,  my  good  lord.  What  is’t  that  moves  your 
highness? 

Macb.  Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Lords.  What,  my  good  lord? 


SCENE  IV.] 


MACBETH. 


231 

Mad).  Thou  canst  not  say  I did  it:  never  shake  50 
Tliy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Boss.  Gentlemen,  rise:  his  highness  is  not  well, 
j Lad.y  M.  Sit,  worthy  friends:  my  lord  is  often  thus. 

And  hath  been  from  his  youth:  pray  you,  keep  seat; 

The  fit  is  momentary;  upon  a thought 
He  will  again  be  well:  if  much  you  note  him, 

You  shall  offend  him  and  extend  his  passion: 

Feed,  and  regard  him  not.  Arc  you  a man? 

Macb.  Ay,  and  a bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Lady  M.  O proper  stuff ! 60 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear: 

This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger  which,  you  said. 

Led  you  to  Duncan.  O,  these  flaws  and  starts,  ' 
Imposters  to  true  fear,  would  well  become 
A woman’s  story  at  a winter’s  fire, 

Authorized  by  her  gran  dam.  Shame  itself! 

Why  do  you  make  such  faces?  When  all’s  done, 

You  look  but  cn  a stool. 

_Macb.  Prithee,  see  there!  behold!  look!  lo!  how  say  you? 
Why,  what  care  I?  If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too.  70 
If  charnel-houses  and  our  graves  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.  [Ghost  vanishes. 

Lady  M.  What,  quite  unmanned  in  folly? 

Macb.  If  I stand  here,  I saw  him. 

Lady  M.  Fie,  for  shame! 

Macb.  Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i’  the  olden  time, 
Ere  human  statute  purged  the  gentle  weal; 

Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  perform’d 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear  ; the  times  have  been, 

That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 

And  there  an  end;  but  now  they  rise  again,  80 

With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 

And  push  us  from  our  stools’  this  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a murder  is. 

Lady  M.  My  worthy  lord, 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Macb.  I do  forget. 

Do  not  muse  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends; 

I have  a strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.  Come,  love  and  health  to  all; 
Then  I’ll  sit  down.  Give  me  some  wine;  fill  full. 

I drink  to  the  general  joy  o’  the  whole  table. 

And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss; 

Would  he  were  here!  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst. 

And  all  to  all. 


90 


282 


MACBETH. 


[act  III. 


Lords . Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

Be -enter  Ghost. 

Mach.  Avaunt!  and  quit  my  sight!  let  the  earth  hide  thee! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold; 

Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with! 

Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers. 

But  as  a thing  of  custom:  ’tis  no  other; 

Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I dare: 

Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear,  100 

The  arm’d  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger; 

Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble:  or  be  alive  again, 

And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword; 

•[If  trembling  I inhabit  then,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a girl.  Hence,  horrible  shadow! 

Unreal  mockery,  hence!  [ Ghost  vanishes . 

Why,  so:  being  gone, 

I am  a man  again.  Pray  you,  sit  still. 

Lady  M.  You  have  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  the  good 
meeting, 

With  most  admired  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be,  110 

And  overcome  us  like  a summer’s  cloud, 

Without  our  special  wonder?  You  make  me  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I owe, 

When  now  I think  you  can  behold  such  sights, 

And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks, 

When  mine  is  blanch’d  with  fear. 

Boss.  What  sights,  my  lord? 

Lady  M.  I pray  you,  speak  not;  he  grows  worse  and 
worse ; 

Question  enrages  him.  At  once,  good  night: 

Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 

But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night;  and  better  health  120 

Attend  his  majesty! 

Lady  M.  A kind  good  night  to  all ! 

[ Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth  and  Lady  M0 
Macb.  It  will  have  blood ; the}^  say,  blood  will  have  blood: 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move  and  trees  to  speak; 
Augurs  and  understood  relations  have 
By  magot-pies  arid  choughs  and  rooks  brought  forth 
The  secret’st  man  of  blood.  What  is  the  night? 

Lady  M.  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 


SCENE  V.] 


MACBETH. 


233 


Macb.  How  say’st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 
At  our  great  bidding? 

Lady  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir? 

Macb.  .1  hear  it  by  the  way;  but  I will  send:  130 

There’s  not  a one  of  them  but  in  his  house 
I keep  a servant  fee’d.  I will  to-morrow, 

And  betimes  I will,  to  the  weird  sisters: 

More  shall  they  speak;  for  now  I am  bent  to  know, 

By  the  worst  means,  the  worst.  For  mine  own  good, 

All  causes  shall  give  way:  I am  in  blood 
Stepp’d  in  so  far  that,  should  I wade  no  more, 

Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o’er: 

Strange  things  I have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand; 

Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scann’d.  140 

Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Macb.  Come,  we’ll  to  sleep.  My  strange  and  self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear  that  wants  hard  use: 

We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  Y.  A Heath. 

Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches,  meeting  Hecate. 

First  Witch . Why,  how  now,  Hecate!  you  look  angerly. 

Hec.  Have  I not  reason,  beldams  as  you  are, 

Saucy  and  overbold?  How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  traffic  with  Macbeth 
In  riddles  and  affairs  of  death ; 

And  I,  the  mistress  of  your  charms, 

The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 

Was  never  call’d  to  bear  my  part. 

Or  show  the  glory  of  our  art? 

And,  which  is  worse,  all  you  have  done  10 

Hath  been  but  for  a wayward  son, 

Spiteful  and  wrathful,  who,  as  others  do, 

Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 

But  make  amends  now:  get  you  gone, 

And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron 
Meet  me  i’  the  morning:  thither  he 
Will  come  to  know  his  destiny: 

Your  vessels  and  your  spells  provide. 

Your  charms  and  every  thing  beside. 

I am  for  the  air;  this  night  I’ll  spend  20 

Unto  a dismal  and  a fatal  end: 

Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon: 

Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 

There  hangs  a vaporous  drop  profound ; 


234 


MACBETH. 


[act  III. 


I’ll  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground: 

And  that  distill’d  by  magic  sleights 
Shall  raise  such  artitical  sprites 
As  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion 
Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion: 

He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear  30 

His  hopes  ’bove  wisdom,  grace  and  fear: 

And  you  all  know,  security 
Is  mortals’  cliiefest  enemy. 

[Music  and  a song  within:  ‘ £ Come  away,  come  away,  ” &c. 
Hark!  I am  call’d;  my  little  spirit,  see, 

Sits  in  a foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me. . [Exit. 

First  Witch.  Come,  let’s  make  haste;  she’ll  soon  be  back 
again.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  YI.  Forres.  The  palace. 

Enter  Lennox  and  another  Lord. 

Len.  My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts, 
Which  can  interpret  further:  only,  I say, 

Things  have  been  strangely  borne.  The  gracious  Duncan. 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth:  marry,  he  was  dead: 

And  the  right-valiant  Banquo  walk’d  too  late; 

Whom,  you  may  say,  if ’t  please  you,  Fleance  kill’d, 

For  Fleance  fled:  men  must  not  walk  too  late. 

Who  cannot  want  the  thought  how  monstrous 

It  was  for  Malcolm  and  for  Donalbain 

To  kill  their  gracious  father?  damned  fact!  10 

How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth!  did  he  not  straight 

In  pious  rage  the  two  delinquents  tear, 

That  were  the  slaves  of  drink  and  thralls  of  sleep? 

Was  not  that  nobly  done?  Ay,  and  wisely  too; 

For  ’twould  have  anger’d  any  heart  alive 
To  hear  the  men  deny’t.  So  thgt,  I say, 

He  has  borne  all  things  well:  and  I do  think 
That  had  he  Duncan’s  sons  under  his  key — 

As,  an’t  please  heaven,  he  shall  not— they  should  And 
What  ’twere  to  kill  a father;  so  should  Fleance.  20 

But,  peace!  for  from  broad  words  and  ’cause  he  fail’d 
His  presence  af  the  tyrant’s  feast,  I hear 
Macduff  lives  in  disgrace:  sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord.  The  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth. 

Lives  in  the  English  court,  and  is  received 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace 


SCENE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


235 


That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 

Takes  from  his  high  respect:  thither  MaccTuff 

Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  upon  his  aid  30 

To  wake  Northumberland  and  warlike  Siward: 

That,  by  the  help  of  these — with  Him  above 

To  ratify  the  work — we  may  again 

Give  to  our  tables  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights, 

Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives, 

Do  faithful  homage  and  receive  free  honours: 

All  which  we  pine  for  now:  and  this  report 
Hath  so  exasperate  the  king  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  war. 

Len.  Sent  he  to  Macduff? 

Lord.  He  did:  and  with  an  absolute  “ Sir,  not  I,”  40 

The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back, 

And  hums,  as  who  should  say  “ You’ll  rue  the  time 
That  clogs  me  with  this  answer.” 

Len.  And  that  well  might 

Advise  him  to  a caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide.  Some  holy  angel 
Fly  to  the  court  of  England  and  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  come,  that  a swift  blessing 
May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 
Under  a hand  accursed! 

Lord.  I’ll  send  my  prayers  with  him. 

[ Exeunt . 

ACT  IY. 

Scene  I.  A cavern.  In  the  middle,  a "boiling  cauldron . 

Thunder.  Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch.  Tlirice  the  b rinded  cat  hath  mew’d. 

Sec.  Witch.  Thrice  and  once  the  hedge-pig  whined. 

Third  Witch.  Harpier  cries  ’Tis  time,  Jtis  time. 

First  Witch.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go; 

In  the  poison’d  entrails  throw, 
f Toad,  that  under  the  cold  stone 
Days  and  nights  hast  thirty-one 
Swelter’d  venom  sleeping  got, 

Boil  thou  first  i’  the  charmed  pot. 

All . Double,  double  toil  and  trouble;  10 

Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec.  Witch.  Fillet  of  a fenny  snake, 

In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake; 

Eye  of  newt  and  toe  of  frog, 

Wool  of  bat  and  tongue  of  dog, 


236 


MACBETH. 


[ACT  IV. 


Adder’s  fork  and  blind- worm’s  sting, 

Lizard’s  leg  and  owlet’s  wing. 

For  a charm  of  powerful  trouble, 

Like  a liell-brotli  boil  and  bubble. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble;  20 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Third  Witch . Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf, 

Witches’  mummy,  maw  and  gulf 
Of  the  ravin’d  salt-sea  slmrk, 

Root  of  hemlock  digg’d  i’  the  dark, 

Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew, 

Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew 
Sliver’d  in  the  moon’s  eclipse, 

Hose  of  Turk  and  Tartar’s  lips, 

Finger  of  birth -strangled  babe  80 

Dit ch-del iver’d  by  a drab, 

Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab: 

Add  thereto  a tiger’s  chaudron, 

For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec.  Witch.  Cool  it  with  a baboon’s  blood, 

Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good. 

Enter  Hecate  to  the  other  three  Witches. 

Hec.  O,  well  done!  I commend  your  pains; 

And  every  one  shall  share  i’  the  gains:  40 

And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing, 

Live  elves  and  fairies  in  a ring, 

Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 

[Music  and  a song:  “ Black  spirits,”  &c. 

[. Hecate  retires. 

Sec.  Witch.  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 

Something  wicked  this  vray  comes. 

Open,  locks, 

Whoever  knocks! 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Mach.  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midnight  hags! 
WThat  is’t  you  do? 

All.  A deed  without  a name. 

Macb.  I conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess,  50 
Howe’er  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me: 

Though  you  untie  the  winds  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches;  though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up; 

Though  bladed  corn  be  lodged  and  trees  blown  down; 


SCENE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


237 


Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders’  heads; 

Though  palaces  and  pyramids  do  slope 

Their  heads  to  their  foundations;  though  the  treasure 

Of  nature’s  germens  tumble  all  together, 

Even  till  destruction  sicken;  answer  me  60 

To  what  I ask  you. 

First  Witch.  Speak. 

Sec.  Witch.  Demand. 

} Third  Witch.  We’ll  answer. 

First  Witch.  Say,  if  thou’dst  rather  hear  it  from  our 
mouths, 

Or  from  our  masters? 

Mach.  Call  ’em;  let  me  see  ’em. 

First  Witch.  Pour  in  sow’s  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow;  grease  that’s  sweaten 
From  the  murderer’s  gibbet  throw 
Into  the  flame. 

All.  Come,  high  or  low; 

Thyself  and  office  deftly  show! 

Thunder . First  Apparition:  an  armed  Head . 

Mach.  Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power, — 

First  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought: 

Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought.  70 

First  App.  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  beware  Mac- 
duff; 

Beware  the  thane  of  Fife.  Dismiss  me.  Enough. 

[Descends. 

Mach.  Whate’er  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution,  thanks; 
Thou  hast  harp’d  my  fear  aright:  but  one  word  more, — 
First  Witch.  He  will  not  be  commanded:  here’s  another, 
More  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder.  Second  Apparition:  a bloody  Child. 

Sec.  App.  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth! 

Mach.  Had  I three  ears,  I’ld  hear  thee. 

Sec.  App.  Be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute;  laugh  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  bom  80 

Shall  harm  Macbeth.  [Descends. 

Mach.  Then  live,  Macduff:  what  need  I fear  of  thee? 
But  yet  I’ll  make  assurance  double  sure, 

And  take  a bond  of  fate:  thou  shaft  not  live; 

That  I may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies, 

And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. 

Thunder.  Third  Apparition:  a Child  crowned,  with  a tree 
in  his  hand. 

What  is  this 


233 


MACBETH. 


[act  iy. 


That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a king, 

And  wears  upon  his  baby -brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty? 

All.  Listen,  but  speak  not  to’t. 

Third  App.  Be  lion-mettled,  proud  ; and  take  no  care  90 
'Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are: 

Macbeth  shall  never  vanquish’d  be  until 

Great  Birnana  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 

Shall  come  against  him.  [ Descends . 

Mach.  That  will  never  be: 

Who  can  impress  the  forest,  bid  the  tree 

Unfix  his  earth-bound  root?  Sweet  bodements!  good! 

Bebellion’s  head,  rise  never  till  the  wood 

Of  Birnam  rise,  and  our  high-placed  Macbeth 

Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 

To  time  and  mortal  custom.  Yet  my  heart  100 

Throbs  to  know  one  thing:  tell  me,  if  your  art 

Can  tell  so  much:  shall  Banquo’s  issue  ever 

Reign  in  this  kingdom? 

All.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

Mach.  I will  be  satisfied:  deny  me  this, 

And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you!  Let  me  know. 

Why  sinks  that  cauldron?  and  what  noise  is  this? 

[Hautboys. 

First  Witch.  Show'! 

Sec.  Witch.  Show! 

Third  Witch.  Show! 

All.  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart;  110 

Come  like  shadows,  so  depart! 

A show  of  Eight  Kings,  the  last  with  a glass  in  his  hand; 
Banquo s Ghost  following. 

Mach.  Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo;  down! 
Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls.  And  thy  hair, 

Tliou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  first. 

A third  is  like  the  former.  Filthy  hags! 

Why  do  you  show  me  this?  A fourth!  Start,  eyes! 
What,  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of  doom? 
Another  yet!  A seventh!  I’ll  see  no  more: 

And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a glass 

Which  shows  me  many  more;  and  some  I see  120 

That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry: 

Horrible  sight!  Now,  I see,  ’tis  true; 

For  the  blood -bolter’d  Banquo  smiles  upon  me. 

And  points  at  them  for  his.  [Apparitions  rnnish. 

What,  is  this  so? 

First  Witch.  Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so : but  why 


SCENE  II.] 


MACBETH. 


239 


Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly? 

Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprites, 

And  show  the  best  of  our  delights: 

I’ll  charm  the  air  to  give  a sound, 

While  you  perform  your  antic  round;  130 

That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say, 

Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay. 

[Music.  The  Witches  dance , and  then  vanish,  with  Hecate . 
Macb.  Where  are  they?  Gone?  Let  this  pernicious  hour 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar! 

Come  in,  without  there! 

Enter  Lennox. 

Len.  What’s  your  grace’s  will? 

Macb.  Saw  you  the  weird  sisters? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Came  they  not  by  you? 

Len.  ~ No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride; 

And  damn’d  all  those  that  trust  them!  I did  hear 
The  galloping  of  horse:  who  was’t  came  by?  140 

Len.  Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you  word 
Macduff  is  fled  to  England. 

Macb.  Fled  to  England! 

Len.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  Time',  thou  anticipatest  my  dread  exploits: 

The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o’ertook 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it;  from  this  moment 
The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  ]oe 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand.  And  even  now, 

To  crown  my  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought  and  done: 
The  castle  of  Macduff  I will  surprise;  150 

Seize  upon  Fife;  give  to  the  edge  o’  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line.  No  boasting  like  a fool; 

This  deed  I’ll  do  before  this  purpose  cool. 

But  no  more  sights! — Y^here  are  these  gentlemen? 

Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  II.  Fife.  Macduff  's  castle . 

Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Boss. 

L.  Macd.  What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly  the  land? 
Ross.  You  must  have  patience,  madam. 

L.  Macd.  He  had  none; 

His  flight  was  madness:  when  our  actions  do  not, 

Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors. 


240 


MACBETH. 


[act  iy. 


Boss.  You  know  not 

Whether  it  was  his  wisdom  or  his  fear. 

L.  Macd.  Wisdom!  to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave  his  babes, 
His  mansion  and  his  titles  in  a place 
From  whence  himself  does  fly?  He  loves  us  not; 

He  wants  the  natural  touch:  for  the  poor  wren. 

The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight,  10 

Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 

All  is  the  fear  and  nothing  is  the  love: 

As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Boss . My  dearest  coz, 

I pray  you,  school  yourself:  but  for  your  husband, 

He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 

The  fits  o’  the  season.  I dare  not  speak  much  further; 

But  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors 

And  do  not  know  ourselves,  when  we  hold  rumour 

From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear,  20 

But  float  upon  a wild  and  violent  sea 

Each  way  and  move.  I take  my  leave  of  you: 

Shall  not  be  long  but  I’ll  be  here  again: 

Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 
To  what  they  were  before.  My  pretty  cousin, 

Blessing  upon  you ! 

L.  Macd.  Father’d  he  is,  and  yet  he’s  fatherless. 

Boss.  I am  so  much  a fool,  should  I stay  longer, 

It  would  be  my  disgrace  and  your  discomfort: 

I take  my  leave  at  once.  [Exit. 

L.  Macd.  Sirrah,  your  father’s  dead:  30 

And  what  will  you  do  now?  How  will  you  live? 

Son.  As  birds  do,  mother. 

L.  Macd.  What,  with  worms  and  flies? 

Son.  With  what  I get,  I mean ; and  so  do  they. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  bird ! thou’ldst  never  fear  the  net  nor 
lime, 

The  pitfall  nor  the  gin. 

Son.  Why  should  I,  mother?  Poor  birds  they  are  not 
set  for. 

My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

L.  Maccl.  Yes,  he  is  dead : how  wilt  thou  do  for  a father? 
Son.  Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a husband? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  I can  buy  me  twenty  at  any  market. 

[ Son.  Then  you’ll  buy  ’em  to  sell  again.  41 

; L.  Macd.  Thou  speak’st  with  alf  thy  wit;  and  yet,  i’ 
faith, 

With  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son.  Was  my  father  a traitor,  mother? 


SCENE  II.] 


MACBETH. 


241 


L.  Macd.  Ay,  that  he  was. 

Son.  What  is  a traitor? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son.  And  be  all  traitors  that  do  so? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one  that  does  so  is  a traitor,  and  must 
be  hanged.  50 

Son.  And  must  they  all  be  hanged  that  swear  and  lie? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one. 

Son.  Who  must  hang  them? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  the  honest  men. 

Son.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools,  for  there  are 
liars  and  swearers  enow  to  beat  the  honest  men  and  hang 
up  them. 

L.  Macd.  How,  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey!  But  how 
wilt  thou  do  for  a father?  60 

Son.  If  he  were  dead,  you’ld  weep  for  him : if  you  would 
not,  it  were  a good  sign  that  I should  quickly  have  a new 
father. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  prattler,  how  thou  talk’st! 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  Bless  you,  fair  dame!  I am  not  to  you  known, 
Though  in  your  state  of  honour  I am  perfect. 

I doubt  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly: 

If  you  will  take  a homely  man’s  advice, 

Be  not  found  here;  hence,  with  your  little  ones. 

To  frighten  you  thus,  methinks,  I am  too  savage;  70 
To  do  worse  to  you  were  fell  cruel tj^, 

Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.  Heaven  preserve  you! 

I dare  abide  no  longer.  [Exit 

L.  Macd.  Whither  should  I fly? 

I have  done  no  harm.  But  I remember  now 
I am  in  this  earthly  world;  where  to  do  harm 
Is  often  laudable,  to  do  good  sometime 
Accounted  dangerous  folly:  why  then,  alas, 

Do  I put  up  that  womanly  defence, 

To  say  I have  done  no  harm? 

Enter  Murderers. 

What  are  these  faces? 

• First  Mur.  Where  is  your  husband?  80 

L.  Macd.  I hope,  in  no  place  so  unsanctified 
Where  such  as  thou  mayst  find  him. 

First  Mur.  He’s  a traitor. 

Son.  Thou  best,  thou  shag-liair’d  villain! 

First  Mur.  What;  you  egg! 

[Stabbing  him. 

Young  fry  of  treachery! 


242 


MACBETH. 


[act  iy. 


Son.  He  lias  kill’d  me,  mother: 

Run  away,  I pray  you ! [ Dies. 

[Exit  Lady  Macduff,  crying  “ Murder  ! ” Exeunt  Mur- 
derers, following  her. 

Scene  III.  England.  Before  the  King's. palace. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

Mai.  Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and  there 
Weep  out  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

Macd.  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword,  and  like  good  men 
Bestride  our  down-fall’n  birthdom-  each  new  morn 
New  widows  howl,  new  orphans  cry,  new  sorrows 
Strike  heaven  on  thje  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland  and  yell’d  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolour. 

Mai.  What  I believe  I’ll  wail. 

What  know  believe,  and  what  I can  redress, 

As  I shall  find  the  time  to  friend,  I will.  10 

What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so  perchance. 

This  tyrant,  whose  sole  name  blisters  our  tongues, 

Was  once  thought  honest:  you  have  loved  him  well. 

He  hath  not  touch’d  you  yet.  I am  young;  but  something 
You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me,  and  wisdom 
To  offer  up  a w7eak  poor  innocent  lamb 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

Macd.  I am  not  treacherous. 

Mai.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil 

In  an  imperial  charge.  But  I shall  crave  your  pardon;  20 

That  which  you  are  my  thoughts  cannot  transpose: 

Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  fell: 

Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  of  grace, 
Yet  grace  must  still  look  so. 

Macd.  I have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mai.  Perchance  even  there  where  I did  find  my  doubts. 
Why  in  that  rawness  left  you  wife  and  child, 

Those  precious  motives,  those  strong  knots  of  love, 
Without  leave-taking?  I pray  you, 

Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonours, 

But  mine  own  safeties.  You  may  be  rightly  just,  30 
Whatever  I shall  think. 

Macd.  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country! 

Great  tyranny!  lay  thou  thy  basis  sure, 

For  goodness  dare  not  check  thee;  wear  thou  thy  wrongs; 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH, 


243 


The  title  is  affeer’dl  Fare  thee  well,  lord: 

I would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think’st 
For  the  whole  space  that’s  in  the  tyrant’s  grasp. 

And  the  rich  East  to  boot. 

Mol.  Be  not  offended: 

I speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 

I think  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke; 

It  weeps,  it  bleeds;  and  each  new  day  a gash 
Is  added  to  her  wounds:  I think  withal 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  my  right; 

And  here  from  gracious  England  have  I offer 
Of  goodly  thousands:  but,  for  all  this. 

When  I shall  tread  upon  the  tyrant’s  head, 

Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before, 

More  suffer  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 

By  him  that  shall  succeed. 

Macd , What  should  he  be? 

Mai.  It  is  myself  I mean : in  whom  I know 
All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted 
That,  when  they  shall  be  open’d,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow,  and  the  poor' state 
Esteem  him  as  a lamb,  being  compared 
With  my  confineless  harms. 

Macd.  Not  in  the  legions 

Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a devil  more  damn’d 
In  evils  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai.  I grant  him  bloody, 

Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 

Sudden,  malicious,  smacking  of  every  sin 
That  has  a name : but  there’s  no  bottom,  none, 

In  my  voluptuousness:  your  wives,  your  daughters,  * 
Your  matrons  and  your  maids,  could  not  fill  up 
The  cistern  of  my  lust,  and  my  desire 
All  continent  impediments  would  o’erbear 
That  did  oppose  my  will : better  Macbeth 
Than  such  an  one  to  reign. 

Macd.  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a tyranny;  it  hath  been 
The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne 
And  fall  of  many  kings.  But  fear  not  yet 
To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours:  you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a spacious  plenty, 

And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hoodwink. 
We  have  willing  dames  enough;  there  cannot  be 
That  vulture  in  you,  to  devour  so  many 
As  will  to  greatness  dedicate  themselves. 


40 

50 

60 

70 


244 


MACBETH, 


[act  iy. 


Finding  it  so  inclined. 

Mai.  With  this  there  grows 

In  my  most  ill-composed  affection  such 
A stanchless  avarice  that,  were  I king, 

I should  cut  off  the  nobles  for  their  lands, 

Desire  his  jewTels  and  this  other’s  house; 

And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more ; that  I should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  against  the  good  and  loyal, 
Destroying  them  for  wealth. 

Macd.  This  avarice 

Sticks  deeper,  grows  with  more  pernicious  root 
Than  summer-seeming  lust,  and  it  hath  been 
The  sword  of  our  slain  kings:  yet  do  not  fear; 
Scotland  hath  foisons  to  till  up  }rour  will. 

Of  your  mere  own:  all  these  are  portable, 

With  other  graces  weigh’d. 

Mai.  But  I have  none : the  king-becoming  graces, 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 

Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 

Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 

I have  no  relish  of  them,  but  abound 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime, 

Acting  it  many  waj^s.  Nay,  had  I power,  I should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 

Uproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd.  O Scotland,  Scotland! 

Mai.  If  such  a one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak : 

I am  as  I have  spoken. 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern! 

No,  not  to  live,  O nation  miserable, 

With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-scepter’d, 

When  shalt  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again, 
Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accursed, 

And  does  blaspheme  his  breed?  Thy  royal  father 
Was  a most  sainted  king:  the  queen  that  bore  thee, 
Oftener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet, 

Died  every  day  she  lived.  Fare  thee  well! 

These  evils  thou  repeat’st  upon  thyself 
Have  banish’d  me  from  Scotland.  O my  breast, 
Thy  hope  ends  here ! 

Mai.  Macduff,  this  noble  passion. 

Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 
Wiped  the  black  scruples,  reconciled  my  thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.  Devilish  Macbeth 


80 

90 

100 

110 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


245 


By  many  of  these  trains,  hath  sought  to  win  me 

Into  his  power,  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 

From  over-credulous  haste  > hut  God  above  126 

Deal  between  thee  and  me!  for  even  now 

I put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and 

Unspeak  mine  own  detraction,  here  abjure 

The  taints  and  blames  1 laid  upon  myself, 

For  strangers  to  my  nature.  1 am  yet 
Unknown  to  woman,  never  was  forsworn, 

Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own, 

At  no  time  broke  my  faith,  would  not  betray 
The  devil  to  his  fellow  and  delight 

No  less  in  truth  than  life:  my  first  false  speaking  130 
Was  this  upon  myself:  what  I am  truly, 

Is  thine  and  my  poor  country’s  to  command: 

Whither  indeed,  before  thy  here-approach, 

Old  Siward,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men, 

Already  at  a point,  was  setting  forth. 

Now  we’ll  together;  and  the  chance  of  goodness 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel!  Why  are  you  silent? 

Mac\.  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once 
’Tis  hard  to  reconcile. 

Enter  a Doctor. 

Mai.  Well;  more  anon. — Comes  the  king  forth,  I pray 
you  ? 140 

Doct.  Ay,  sir ; there  are  a crew  of  wretched  souls 
That  stay  liis, cure:  their  malady  convinces 
The  great  assay  of  art ; but  at  his  touch — 

Such  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand — 

They  presently  amend. 

Mai.  I thank  you,  doctor.  [Exit  Doctor. 

Macd.  What’s  the  disease  lie  means? 

Mai.  ’Tis  call’d  the  evil: 

A most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king; 

Which  often,  since  my  here-remain  in  England, 

I have  seen  him  do.  How  lie  solicits  heaven, 

Himself  best  knows:  but  strangely-visited  people,  150 
All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitiful  to  the  eye, 

The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures, 

Hanging  a golden  stamp  about  their  necks. 

Put  on  with  holy  prayers:  and  ’tis  spoken. 

To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves 

The  healing  benediction.  With  this  strange  virtue. 

He  hath  a heavenly  gift  of  prophecy. 

And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne. 

That  speak  him  full  of  grace. 


246 


MACBETH. 


[act  it. 


Enter  Boss. 

Macd . See,  who  comes  here? 

Mai.  My  countryman;  but  yet  I know  him  not.  160 

Maccl.  My  ever-gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Mol.  I know  him  now.  Good  God,  betimes  remove 
The  means  that  makes  us  strangers! 

Boss.  Sir,  amen. 

Macd.  Stands  Scotland  where  it  did? 

Boss.  Alas,  poor  country! 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself.  It  cannot 
Be  call’d  our  mother,  but  our  grave;  where  nothing, 

But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile; 

Where  sighs  and  groans  and  shrieks  that  rend  the  air 
Are  made,  not  mark’d;  where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A modern  ecstasy:  the  dead  man’s  knell  ' 170 

Is  there  scarce  ask’d  for  who;  and  good  men’s  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 

D ying  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.  O,  relation 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true! 

Mai.  What’s  the  newest  grief? 

Boss.  That  of  an  hour’s  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker: 

Each  minute  teems  a new  one. 

Macd.  How  does  my  wife? 

Boss.  Why,  well. 

Macd . And  all  my  children? 

Boss.  Well  too. 

Macd.  The  tyrant  has  not  batter’d  at  their  peace? 

Boss.  No;  they  were  well  at  peace  when  I did  leave  ’em. 

Macd.  Be  not  a niggard  of  your  speech:  how  goes’t?  180 

Boss.  When  I came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings, 
Which  I have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a rumour 
Of  many  wrortliy  fellows  that  were  out; 

Which  was  to  my  belief  witness’d  the  rather, 

For  that  I saw  the  tyrant’s  power  a-foot: 

Now  is  the  time  of  help;  your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  light, 

To  doff  tlreir  dire  distresses. 

Mai.  Be’t  their  comfort 

We  are  coming  thither:  gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Si  ward  and  ten  thousand  men;  190 

An  older  and  a better  soldier  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Boss.  Would  I could  answer 

This  comfort  with  the  like!  But  I have  words 
That  would  be  howl’d  out  iu  the  desert  air. 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


247 


Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them. 

Macd.  What  concern  they? 

The  general  cause?  or  is  it  a fee-grief 
Due  to  some  single  breast? 

Boss.  HSTo  mind  that’s  honest 

But  in  it  shares  some  woe;  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  If  it  be  mine, 

Keep  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it.  200 

Boss.  Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for  ever, 
Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.  Hum ! I guess  at  it. 

Boss.  Your  castle  is  surprised;  your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughter’d:  to  relate  the  manner, 

Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murder’d  deer, 

To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Mat.  Merciful  heaven ! 

What,  man!  ne’er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows; 

Give  sorrow  words:  the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o’er-fraught  heart  and  bids  it  break.  210 

Macd.  My  children  too? 

Boss.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

That  could  be  found. 

Macd.  And  I must  be  from  thence ! 

My  wife  kill’d  too? 

Boss.  I have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted : 

Let’s  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge, 

To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.  He  has  no  children.  All  my  pretty  ones? 

Did  you  say  all?  O hell-kite!  All? 

What,  all  my  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 
At  one  fell  swoop? 

Mai.  Dispute  it  like  a man. 

Macd.  I shall  do  so;  220 

But  I must  also  feel  it  as  a man : 

I cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 

That  were  most  precious  to  me.  Did  heaven  look  on, 

And  would  not  take  their  part?  Sinful  Macduff, 

They  were  all  struck  for  thee!  naught  that  I am, 

Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine, 

Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.  Heaven  rest  them  now! 

Mai.  Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword;  let  grief 
Convert  to  anger;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd.  O,  I could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes  230 
And  braggart  with  my  tongue ! But,  gentle  heavens, 


248 


MACBETH. 


[act  y. 


Cut  short  all  intermission;  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 

Within  my  sword’s  length  set  him;  if  he  ’scape. 

Heaven  forgive  him  too ! 

Mai.  This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king;  our  power  is  ready; 

Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave:  Macbeth 

Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 

Put  on  their  instruments.  Receive  what  cheer  you  may: 

The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day.  [Exeunt.  240 

ACT  Y. 

Scene  I.  Bunsinane.  Ante-room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  a Doctor  of  Physic  and  a Waiting  Gentlewoman. 

Boct.  I have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but  can  per- 
ceive no  truth  in  your  report.  When  was  it  she  last 
walked? 

Gent.  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I have  seen 
her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  nightgown  upon  her, 
unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold  it,  write  upon’t, 
read  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed;  yet  all 
this  while  in  a most  fast  sleep.  9 

Boct.  A great  perturbation  in  nature,  to  receive  at  once 
the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  effects  of  watching!  In 
this  slumbery  agitation,  besides  her  walking  and  other 
actual  performances,  what,  at  any  time,'  have  you  heard 
her  say? 

Gent.  Tlfat,  sir,  which  I will  not  report  after  her. 

Boct.  You  may  to  me:  and  ’tis  most  meet  you  should. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you  nor  any  one;  having  no  witness  to 
confirm  my  speech.  21 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a taper. 

Lo  you,  here  she  comes!  This  is  her  very  guise ; and,  upon 
my  life,  fast  asleep.  Observe  her;  stand  close. 

Boct.  How  came  she  by  that  light? 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her:  she  has  light  by  her  con- 
tinually; ’tis  her  command. 

Boct.  You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.  Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 

Boct.  What  is  it  she  does  now?  Look,  how  she  rubs  her 
hands.  81 

Gent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to  seem  thus 
washing  her  hands:  I have  known  her  continue  in  this  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 


SCENE  I.] 


MACBETH. 


249 


Lady  M.  Yet  here’s  a spot. 

Doct.  Hark!  she  speaks:  I will  set  down  what  comes 
from  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the  more  strongly. 

Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot!  out,  Isay! — One:  two:  why, 
then  ’tis  time  to  do’t. — Hell  is  murky! — Fie,  my  lord,  he! 
a soldier,  and  afeard?  What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it, 
when  none  can  call  our  power  to  account? — Yet  who  would 
have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him. 

Doct.  Do  you  mark  that? 

Lady  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a wife:  where  is  she 
now? — What,  will  these  hands  ne’er  be  clean? — No  more 
o’  that,  my  lord,  no  more  o’  that:  you  mar  all  with  this 
starting.  50 

Doct.  Go  to,  go  to ; you  have  known  what  you  should  not. 

Gent.  She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I am  sure  of 
that:  heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Lady  M.  Here’s  the  smell  of  the  blood  still:  all  the  per- 
fumes of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.  Oh, 
oh,  oh! 

Doct.  What,  a sigh  is  there ! The  heart  is  sorely  charged. 

Gent.  I would  not  have  such  a heart  in  my  bosom  for 
the  dignity  of  the  whole  body. 

Doct.  Well,  well,  well, — 

Gent.  Pray  God  it  be,  sir. 

Doct.  This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice:  yet  I have 
known  those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep  who  have 
died  holily  in  their  beds. 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  nightgown ; look 
not  so  pale. — I tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo’s  buried;  he  can- 
not come  out  on’s  grave.  71 

Doct.  Even  so? 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed!  there’s  knocking  at  the  gate: 
come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand.  What’s 
done  cannot  be  undone. — To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed!  [Exit. 

Doct.  Will  she  go  now  to  bed?  \ 

Gent.  Directly. 

Doct.  Foul  whisperings  are  abroad:  unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles:  infected  minds  80 

To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets: 

More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 

God,  God  forgive  us  all!  Look  after  her; 

Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance, 

And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her.  Bo,  good  night: 

My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amazed  my  sight. 

I think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gent . Good  night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt. 


250 


MACBETH. 


[act  v. 


Scene  II.  The  country  near  Dunsinane. 

Drum  and  colours.  Enter  Menteith,  Caithness,  Angus, 
Lennox,  and  Soldiers. 

Merit.  The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 

His  uncle  Siward  and  the  good  Macduff: 

Revenges  burn  in  them;  for  their  dear  causes 

Would  to  the  bleeding  and  the  grim  alarm 

Excite  the  mortified  man.  I 

Ang.  Near  Birnam  wood 

Shall  we  well  meet  them;  that  way  are  they  coming. 

Caith.  Who  knowrs  if  Donalbain  be  with  his  brother? 

Len.  For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not:  I have  a file 
Of  all  the  gefntry:  there  is  Si  ward’s  son, 

And  many  unrougli  youths  that  even  now  10 

Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Ment.  What  does  the  t}want? 

Caith.  Great  Dunsinane  he  strongly  fortifies: 

Some  say  lie’s  mad ; others  that  lesser  hate  him 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury:  but,  for  certain, 

He  cannot  buckle  his  distemper’d  cause 
Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Ang.  Now  does  he  feel 

His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands; 

Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach; 

Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 

Nothing  in  love:  now  does  he  feel  his  title  20 

Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a giant’s  robe 
Upon  a dwarfish  thief. 

Merit.  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  pester’d  senses  to  recoil  and  start, 

When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself  for  being  there? 

Caith.  " Well,  march  we  on, 

To  give  obedience  where  ’tis  truly  owed: 

Meet  we  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal, 

And  with  him  pour  we  in  our  country’s  purge 
Each  drop  of  us. 

Len.  Or  so  much  as  it  needs, 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower  and  drown  the  weeds.  30 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam.  [Exeunt,  marching . 


SCENE  III.] 


MACBETH. 


251 


Scene  III.  Dunsinane.  A room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor  and  Attendants. 

Mach.  Bring  me  no  more  reports;  let  them  fly  all: 

Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 

1 cannot  taint  with  fear.  What’s  the  boy  Malcolm? 

Was  he  not  bom  of  woman?  The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequences  have  pronounced  me  thus: 

“Fear  not,  Macbeth;  no  man  that’s  born  of  woman 
Shall  e’er  have  power  upon  thee.”  Then  fly,  false  thanes, 
And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures: 

The  mind  I sway  by  and  the  heart  I bear 

Shall  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear.  10 

Enter  a Servant. 

The  devil  damn  thee  blade,  thou  cream-faced  loon! 

Where  got’st  thou  that  goose  look? 

Sew.  There  is  ten  thousand — 

Macb.  Geese,  villain?. 

Serv.  Soldiers,  sir. 

Macb.  Go  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear, 

Thou  lily-liver’d  boy.  What  soldiers,  patch? 

Death  of  thy  soul!  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.  What  soldiers,  wlieyface? 

Serv.  The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

Macb.  Take  thy  face  hence.  [Exit  Servant. 

Seyton! — I am  sick  at  heart, 
When  I behold — Seyton,  Isay! — This  push  2Q 

Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 

I have  lived  long  enough:  my  way  of  life 
Is  fall’n  into  the  sere,  the  yellow  leaf; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I must  not  look  to  have;  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. 
Seyton! 

Enter  Seyton. 

Sey.  What  is  your  gracious  pleasure? 

Macb:  What  news  more?  30 

Sey.  All  is  confirm’d,  my  lord,  which  was  reported. 
Macb.  I’ll  fight  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be  hack’d. 
Give  me  my  armour. 

Sey.  ’Tis  not  needed  yet. 

Macb.  I’ll  put  it  on. 


252 


MACBETH. 


[act  v. 


Send  out  more  horses:  skirr  the  country  round; 

Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear.  Give  me  mine  armour. 

How  does  your  patient,  doctor? 

Doct . Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

As  she  is  troubled  ^yith  thick-coming  fancies, 

That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Mach.  Cure  her  of  that. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a mind  diseased,  • 40 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a rooted  sorrow, 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuff’d  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart? 

Doct.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself 
Mad).  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs;  I’ll  none  of  it. 

Come,  put  mine  armour  on;  give  me  my  staff. 

Seyton,  send  out.  Doctor,  the  thanes  Hy  from  me. 

•Come,  sir,  dispatch.  If  thou  couldst,  doctor,  cast  50 
The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease, 

And  purge  it  to  a sound  and  pristine  health, 

I would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo, 

That  should  applaud  again. — Pull’t  off,  Isay. — 

What  rhubarb,  fcyme,  or  what  purgative  drug, 

Would  scour  these  English  hence?  Hear’st  thou  of  them? 

Doct.  Ay,  my  good  lord;  your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  hear  something. 

Mdcb.  Bring  it  after  me. 

I will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane, 

Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane.  60 

Doct.  [Aside]  Were  I from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear, 
Profit  again  should  hardly  draw  me  here.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  IY.  Country  near  Birnam  wood. 

Drum  and  colours.  Enter  Malcolm,  old  Siward  and  7m 
Son,  Macduff,  Menteith,  Caithness,  Angus,  Len- 
nox, Ross,  and  Soldiers,  marching. 

Mai.  Cousins,  I hope  the  days  are  near  at  hand 
That  chambers  will  be  safe. 

Ment.  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Siw.  What  wood  is  this  before  us? 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnam. 

Mai.  Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a bough 
And  bear’t  before  him:  thereby  shall  we  shadow 


SCENE  V.] 


MACBETH. 


253 


The  numbers  of  our  host  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Soldiers.  It  shall  be  done. 

Siw.  We  learn  no  other  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Our  setting  down  before’t. 

Mai.  ’Tis  his  main  hope:  10 

For  where- there  is  advantage  to  be  given, 

Both  more  and  less  have  given  him  the  revolt, 

And  none  serve  with  him  but  constrained  things 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too. 

Macd.  Let  our  just  censures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on 
Industrious  soldiership. 

Siw.  The  time  approaches 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have  and  what  we  owe. 

Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hopes  relate,  ^ 

But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate:  20 

Towards  which  advance  the  war.  [Exeunt,  marching. 

Scene  V.  Dunsinane.  Within  the  castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Seyton,  and  Soldiers,  with  drum  and 
colours. 

Macb.  Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outwTard  walls; 

The  cry  is  still  “They  come;”  our  castle’s  strength 
Will  laugh  a siege  to  scorn : here  let  them  lie 
Till  famine  and  the  ague  eat  them  up: 

Were  they  not  forced  with  those  that  should  be  ours, 

We  might  have  met  them  dareful,  beard  to  beard, 

And  beat  them  backward  home.  [ A cry  of  icomen  icithin. 

What  is  that  noise? 

Sey.  It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord.  [Exit. 

Macb.  I have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears: 

The  time  has  been  my  senses  wTould  have  cool’d  10 

To  hear  a night-shriek;  and  my  fell  of  hair 

Would  at  a dismal  treatise  rouse  and  stir 

As  life  were  in’t:  I have  supp’d  full  with  horrors; 

Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaughterous  thoughts, 

Cannot  once  start  me. 

De-enter  Seyton. 

Wherefore  ‘was  that  cry? 

Sey.  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Macb.  She  should  have  died  hereafter; 


254 


MACBETH. 


[act  y. 


There  would  have  been  a time  for  such  a word. 
To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day  20 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time, 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle! 

Life’s  but  a walking  shadow,  a poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage 
And  then  is  heard  no  more:  it  is  a tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing. 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Thou  comest  to  use  thy  tongue;  thy  story  quickly. 

Mess.  Gracious,  my  lord,  30 

I should  report  that  which  I say  I sawT, 

But  know  not  how  to  do  it. 

Mach.  Well,  say,  sir. 

Messt  As  I did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 

I look’d  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  metliought, 

The  wood  began  to  move. 

Mach.  Liar  and  sVave! 

Mess.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if’t  be  not  so: 

Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming; 

I say,  a moving  grove. 

Mach.  If  thou  speak’st  false. 

Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive, 

Till  famine  cling  thee:  if  thy  speech  be  sooth,  40 

I care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. 

I pull  in  resolution,  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend 

That  lies  like  truth:  “Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 

Do  come  to  Dunsinane:”  and  now  a wood 

Comes  toward  Dunsinane.  Arm,  arm,  and  out! 

If  this  which  he  avouches  does  appear, 

There  is  nor  frying  lienee  nor  tarrying  here. 

I gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun, 

And  wish  the  estate  o’  the  world  were  now  undone.  50 
Bing  the  alarum-bell!  Blow,  wind!  come,  wrack! 

At  least  we’ll  die  with  harness  on  our  back.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  YI.  Dunsinane.  Before  the  castle. 

Drum  and  colours.  Enter  Malcolm,  old  Siwakd,  Macduff, 
and  their  Army,  with  boughs. 

Mai.  Now  near  enough:  3*our  leafy  screens  throw  down, 
And  show  like  those  you  are.  You,  worthy  uncle, 


SCENE  VII.] 


MACBETH. 


255 


Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right  noble  son, 

Lead  our  first  battle:  worthy  Macduff  and  we 
Shall  take  upon’s  what  else  remains  to  do, 

According  to  our  order. 

Siw.  Fare  you  well. 

Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant’s  power  to-night, 

Let  us  be  beaten  if  we  cannot  fight. 

Macd.  Make  all  our  trumpets  speak;  give 
breath, 

Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death. 

Scene  VII.  Another  part  of  the  field. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macbeth. 

Mach.  They  have  tied  me  to  a stake;  I cannot  fly, 

But,  bear-like,  I must  fight  the  course.  What’s  he 
That  was  not  born  of  woman?  Such  a one 
Am  I to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Siwabd. 

To.  Siw.  What  is  thy  name  ? 

Macb.  Tliou’lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it. 

To.  Siw.  Mo;  though  thou  call’st  thyself  a hotter  name 
Than  any  is  in  hell. 

Macb.  My  name’s  Macbeth. 

To.  Siw.  The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce  a title 
More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 

Macb.  Mo,  nor  more  fearful. 

To.  Siw.  Thou  best,  abhorred  tyrant;  with  my  sword 
I’ll  prove  the  lie  thou  speak’st.  11 

[They  fight  and  young  Siward  is  slain. 
Macb.  Thou  wast  born  of  woman. 

But  swords  I smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 

Brandish’d  by  man  that’s  of  a woman  born.  [Exit. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macduff. 

Macd.  That  wray  the  noise  is.  Tyrant,  show  thy  face! 

If  thou  be’st  slain  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine, 

My  wife  and  children’s  ghosts  will  haunt  me  still. 

I cannot  strike  at  wretched  kerns,  whose  arms 
Are  hired  to  bear  their  staves:  either  thou,  Macbeth, 

Or  else  my  sword  with  an  unbatter’d  edge 
I sheathe  again  undeeded.  There  thou  shouldst  be;  20 
By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 
Seems  bruited.  Let  me  find  him,  fortune! 

And  more  I beg  not.  [Exit.  Alarums. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  old  Siwabd. 


them  all 
9 

[Exeunt. 


256 


MACBETH. 


[act  y. 


She.  This  way,  my  lord;  the  castle’s  gently  render’d; 
The  tyrant’s  people  on  both  sides  do  fight; 

The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war; 

The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours, 

And  little  is  to  do. 

Mai.  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 

Siw.  Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 

[ Exeunt . Alarums . 

Scene  VIII.  Another  part  of  the  field. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Mach.  Why  should  I play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 
On  mine  own  sword?  whiles  I see  lives,  the  gashes 
Do  better  upon  them. 

Enter  Macduff. 

Macd.  Turn,  hell-hound,  turn! 

Macb.  Of  all  men  else  I have  avoided  thee: 

But  get  thee  back;  my  soul  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I have  no  words: 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword:  thou  bloodier  villain 

Than  terms  can  give  thee  out!  [They  fight. 

Macb.  Thou  losest  labour: 

As  easy  mayst  thou  the  intrenchant  air 

With  thy  keen  sword  impress  as  make  me  bleed:  10 

Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests; 

I bear  a charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd.  Despair  thy  charm; 

And  let  the  angel  whom  thou  still  hast  served 
Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother’s  womb 
Untimely  ripp’d. 

Macb.  Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 

For  it  hath  cow’d  my  better  part  of  man! 

And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 

That  palter  with  us  in  a double  sense;  20 

That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope.  I’ll  not  fight  with  thee. 

Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  cow^ard, 

And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o’  the  time: 

We’ll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are, 

Painted  upon  a pole,  and  underwrit, 

“ Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant.” 


SCENE  YIII.] 


MACBETH. 


257 


Mad).  I will  not  yield. 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm’s  feet, 

And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble’s  curse. 

Though  Birnarn  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane,  30 

And  thou  opposed,  being  of  no  woman  born, 

Yet* I will  try  the  last.  Before  my  body 
I throw  my  warlike  shield.  Lay  on,  Macduff, 

And  damn’d  be  him  that  first  cries  “ Hold,  enough!” 

[ Exeunt , fighting.  Alarums. 

Retreat.  Flourish.  Enter , with  drum  and  colours , Malcolm, 
old  Si  ward,  Ross,  the  other  Thanes,  and  Soldiers. 

Mai.  I would  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  arrived. 

'Siw.  Some  must  go  off:  and  yet,  by  these  I see, 

So  great  a day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 

Mai.  Macduff  is  missing,  and  your  noble  son. 

Ross.  Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a soldier’s  debt: 

He  only  lived  but  till  he  was  a man;  40 

The.  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirm’d 
In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 

But  like  a man  he  died. 

Site.  Then  he  is  dead? 

Ross.  Ay,  and  brought  off  the  field:  your  cause  of  sor- 
row 

Must  not  be  measured  by  his  worth,  for  then 
It  hath  no  end. 

Siw.  Had  he  his  hurts  before? 

Ross.  Ay,  on  the  front. 

Siw.  Why  then,  God’s  soldier  be  he! 

Had  I as  many  sons  as  I have  hairs, 

I would  not  wish  them  to  a fairer  death: 

And  so,  his  knell  is  knoll’d. 

Mai.  ' He’s  worth  more  sorrow,  50 

And  that  I’ll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He’s  worth  no  more: 

They  say  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score: 

And  so,  God  be  with  him!  Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbeth’s  head. 

Macd.  Hail,  king!  for  so  thou  art:  behold,  where  standsj 
The  usurper’s  cursed  head:  the  time  is  free:  / 

I see  thee  compass’d  with  thy  kingdom’s  pearl,  f 

That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds; 

Whose  voices  I desire  aloud  with  mine: 

Hail,  King  of  Scotland! 

All.  Hail,  King  of  Scotland!  [ Flourish , 

Mai.  We  shall  not  spend  a large  expense  of  time  69 

SHAK  III. — 9 


253 


MACBETH. 


[act  y. 


Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves, 

And  make  us  even  with  you.  M}r  thanes  and  kinsmen. 
Henceforth,  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honour  named.  What’s  more  to  do, 

Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time,  * 

As  calling  home  our  exiled  friends  abroad 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny; 

Producing  forth  the  cruel  ministers 

Of  this  dead  butcher  and  his  fiend-like  queen, 

Who,  as  ’tis  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hands  7C 

Took  off  her  life;  this,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace, 

We  will  perform  in  measure,  time  and  place: 

So,  thanks  to  all  at  once  and  to  each  one, 

Whom  we  invite  to  see  us  crown’d  at  Scone. 

[Flourish.  Exeunt 


William  Warren 


edition 

OF*  STANDARD  PLAYS 


VALTER  ft  .BAKER  & CO. 

• HAMILTON  • PLACE 

BOSTON 


8 


s 


NEW  PLAYS  AND  BOOKS 

Season  1925 


JON 


^ -~o-" ~ j'  jvui/mui  opinio  auu  intense 

modernity  with  the  kindly  wisdom  of  the  previous  generation. 
~ i 1 A 1 J * 1 "alia 


t?  YrC  . f \ J W1C  pxcviuua  gciierauuu. 

tfrank  Carmichael  is  trying  to  provide  Julia,  a pleasure  loving 
wife,  with  city  life  and  freedom  from  household  care.  Their 
home  is  a collection  of  mechanical  conveniences,  assembled 
in  a combined  living,  dining,  and  sleeping  room,  plus  bath  and 
kitchenette.^  Into  this  “ONE  ROOM,  PLUS”  of  Fred  and 
Julia,  “Dad”  Carmichael  is  warmly  welcomed  for  a visit.  He 
immediately  makes  himself  at  home  finding  the  top  of  the 
bath  tub  a convenient  place  to  sleep.  John  Carmichael, 
Fred  s elder  brother,  and  his  wife,  call  on  “Dad”  and  criticise 
Julia's  extravagant  tastes  and  aspirations  and  their  influence 
on  Fred.  They  flaunt  their  economies  and  exhibit,  in  con- 
trast to  “ONE  ROOM,  PLUS,”  a real  home  of  their  own  in 


the  suburbs.  “Dad’s”  kindly  philosophy,  whimsical  wisdom, 
) see  both  sides,  brings  about  an  unexpected 


and  ability  to x& 

harmony.  Before  he  leaves  “ONE  ROOM,  PLUS*”  the 
recently  antagonistic  young  people  have  to  some  degree,  the 
aspect  of  a mutual  admiration  party.  The  six  characters 
have  equally  prominent  parts.  That  of  “Dad”  Carmichael 
with  its  shafts  of  homely  wit  will  become  classic. 

This  is  a play  from  the  production  of  which  actors  and  au- 
diences alike  will  derive  keen  enjoyment.  Especially  recom- 
mended to  Little  Theatres  and  schools.  During  the  third  act 
the  characters  enact  their  own  story  as  it  would  appear  in  the 
movies.  In  submitting  the  manuscript  of  this  play  to  a mem- 
ber of  the  faculty  of  one  of  our  representative  schools,  the 
reply  came  back:  “This  is  the  best  naturalistic  play  that  I 
have  read  for  many  a day.  The  play  reading  committee  of 
our  sciiooi  simply  went  wild  over  it  and  1 Pope  that  you  will 
allow  us  to  give  the  premier  performance  in  this  part  of  the 
country.”  Royalty  $10.00.  Price,  50  cents. 

By  Dorothy  O.  Savage 

This  is  one  of  the  strongest  and  most  touching  short  plays 
written  in  recent  years.  Laid  in  a fisherman’s  cottage  on  the 
bleak  and  stormy  Scottish  coast,  it  has  in  its  very  fibre  a 
touch  of  the  stress  of  the  storm-tossed  and  wind-swept  land. 
The  types  are  fisher  folk,  primitive  and  vivid,  and  its  tragic 
story  marches  relentlessly  to  its  inevitable  ending  with  that 
simplicity  and  truthfulness  which  marks  real  drama  and  real 
literature.  Few  plays  of  the  day  will  be  found  more  impres- 
sive by  that  public  which  wishes  to  find  the  theatre  what  a 
well-known  critic  has  called  “an  adult  art.”  Three  males,  three 
females.  Time  of  playing,  about  forty  minutes.  Royalty,  each 
" * ih  ~~ 


performance,  $5.00.  Manuscript  only  50  cents  per  copy. 


3 


BAKER’S  PLAYS,  BOSTON.  MASS 


ONE  ROOM,  PLUS  By  Elizabeth  Calder  & Walter  Ben  Hare 

A dramatic  comedy  in  three  acts.  Three  males  and  three 
females.  Scenery  a single  easy  interior.  Plays  a full  even- 
ing. This  laughable  play  blends  youthful  spirits  and  intense 

irniftr  urifh  IrmrllTT  J.1 - / * 


THE 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE 


& (Eflittefcjj  in  jFtbe  Hcts 


BY 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


The  text  employed  is  substantially  that  used  in  the  performances  of  the 
late  Sir  Henry  Irving , but  for  some  of  the  stage-business  of 
this  edition  the  editor  is  indebted  to  the  admirable 
prompt-book  of  the  Castle  Square  Theatre 


BOSTON 

WALTER  H.  BAKER  & CO. 

i 90 7 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE 


CHARACTERS. 


Shylock,  a Jew 

Duke  of  Venice  .... 
Prince  of  Morocco,  suitor  to  Portia 
Antomo,  a merchant  of  Venice 
Bassanio,  his  friend ; a suitor  to  Portia 
Salanio, 

Salarino, 

Gratiano 

Lorenzo,  in  love  with  Jessica 
Tubal,  a Jew,  Shylock' s friend 
Launcklot  Gobbo,  servant  to  Shylock 
Old  Gobbo,  his  father 
Prince  of  Arragon  .... 

Gaoler 

Leonardo,  servant  to  Bassanio 
Balthazar,  servant  to  Portia  . 

Stephano  

Clerk  of  the  Court 
Portia,  a rich  heiress 
Neriss a,  her  waiting  maid 
Jessica,  Shylock' s daughter 


Drury  Lane,  Feb.  14 , Drury  Lane,  Jan.  26, 


1741. 

1814. 

Mr.  Macklin. 

Mr.  Kean. 

Mr.  Winstone. 
Mr.  Cashell. 

Mr.  Pope. 

Mr.  Quin. 

Mr.  Powell. 

Mr.  Mil  ward. 

Mr.  Rae. 

Mr.  Berry. 

Mr.  Barnard. 

Mr.  Ridout. 

Mr.  Vining. 

Mr.  Mills. 

Mr.  Wrench. 

Mr.  Havard. 

Mr.  Phillips. 

Mr.  Taswell. 

Mr.  Meredith. 

Mr.  Chapman. 

Mr.  Oxberry. 

Mr.  Johnson. 
Mr.  Turbutt. 

Mr.  Butler. 
Mr.  Elliot. 

Mrs.  Clive. 

Miss  Smith. 

Mrs.  Pritchard. 

Mrs.  Orger. 

Mrs.  Woodman. 

Miss  Povey. 

Magnificoes,  Officers  of  the  Court,  Maskers,  Servants  and  others,  according 
to  the  conditions  of  the  production. 


COSTUMES. 

Costumes  for  so  important  and  well-known  a play  as  this  should 
'be  supplied  by  some  reputable  costumer.  Home  made  dresses  and 
amateur  archaeology  in  such  cases  as  these  are  dangerous  economies. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENES. 


ACT  I.  Scene  i. 

“ 2. 

“ 3- 

ACT  II.  Scene  i. 

“ 2. 

“ 3- 

ACT  III.  Scene  i. 

“ 2. 


ACT  IV. 
ACT  V. 


A public  place  in  Venice.  Full  stage. 

Portia’s  Garden  in  Belmont.  Scene  in  two. 
Same  as  Scene  1. 

A street  in  Venice.  Full  stage. 

Another  street  in  Venice.  Scene  in  one. 

Same  as  Scene  1. 

Portia’s  House  in  Belmont.  Interior — full  stage. 
A street  in  Venice.  Scene  in  one,  same  as  Act 
II.,  Scene  2. 

Same  as  Scene  x of  this  Act. 

A street  in  Venice.  Same  as  Scene  2. 

A room  in  Portia’s  house  in  Belmont.  Scene 
in  two. 

A court  of  justice  in  Venice. 

Another  part  of  Portia’s  garden  in  Belmont. 
Full  stage. 


Copyright,  1907,  by  Walter  H.  Baker  & Co. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  earliest  mention  of  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice  ” is  an  entry  by 
one  James  Robertes  in  The  Stationers’  Register,  July  22,  1598,  in 
which  it  is  clearly  implied  that  the  play  was  then  the  property  of  The 
Lord  Chamberlain’s  Company,  of  which  its  author  was  a member. 
The  publication  thus  authorized  is  now  known  as  The  First  Quarto, 
and  is  the  earliest  of  the  five  sources  of  the  text  of  this  play  that  are 
known.  The  text  found  in  the  Folio  of  1623  is  a reprint  of  the  second 
of  the  Quartos,  entered  by  Thomas  Haies,  on  October  28,  1600,  an 
inferior  text  to  that  of  Robertes,  and  clearly  chosen  by  the  editors  be- 
cause it  had  been  actually  employed  in  the  theatre  and  was  thus  nearer 
to  its  author.  Their  additions,  chiefly  matters  of  stage  business,  suffi- 
ciently indicate  their  plan  of  selection.  The  earlier  text  of  Robertes 
contains  no  evidence  of  having  been  derived  from  an  acting  copy. 

The  date  of  composition  is  doubtful.  The  first  mention  of  the  play 
by  title  is  in  Francis  Mere’s  “ Palladis  Tamia”  (1598),  but  in  Hens- 
lowe’s  Diary,  reprinted  in  1845  by  Shakespeare  Society,  appears 
the  entry:  “25  of  aguste  1594  ne  Rd  at  the  Venesyon  comodey  . . . 
I s VJ  d.”  Mr.  Henslowe’s  habit  both  of  spelling  and  of  expression 
-was  illiterate,  but  it  has  been  thought  possible  that  in  the  above  hiero- 
glyphic is  recorded  the  first  production  of  this  play,  ne  being  his  cus- 
tomary abbreviation  in  such  cases.  Mr.  Henslowe's  returns  from  this 
venture  were  better  than  appears,  the  purchasing  power  of  money  hav- 
ing been  many  times  greater  in  Shakespeare’s  time  than  now.  The 
plot  may  have  been  derived  from  many  sources.  There  is,  however,  in 
Gosson’s  “ Schoole  of  Abuse”  (1579)  a reference  to  “The  Jew  and 
Ptoleme,  shown  at  the  Bull  (Inn),  representing  the  greedinesse  of 
worldly  chusers  and  bloody  mindes  of  usurers,”  a play  in  which  the 
casket  and  the  bond  ideas,  both  existing  antecedently  in  a great  vari- 
ety of  forms,  are  combined.  It  falls  in  reasonably  with  Shakespeare’s 
easy-going  habit  of  helping  himself  from  the  nearest  and  amplest  dish 
to  suppose  him  to  have  conveniently  based  “The  Merchant  of 
Venice”  upon  this  play,  traces  of  which,  indeed,  have  been  allowed  to 
survive,  by  carelessness,  in  the  text  of  its  derivative. 

3 


4 


INTRO  D UC  710  N. 


What  may  have  been  the  popular  estimate  of  the  character  of  Shy- 
lock  in  Shakespeare’s  time,  or  what  may  have  been  the  manner  of 
interpreting  the  character  then  in  vogue,  are  equally  unknown.  The 
original  actor  of  the  part  of  Shylock  was  Richard  Burbadge,  but  of 
him  and  of  his  performance  it  is  only  meagrely  recorded  (1618)  that 
he  wore  in  the  piece  a red  wig.  It  is  probable  that  his  effect  in  the 
part  was  comparable  to  that  produced  by  him  in  the  Barabas  of  Mar- 
lowe— a hateful  one  of  tragic  poignancy  and  power.  The  modern 
conception  of  Shylock  as  a sympathetic  character  was  probably  as  far 
from  the  mind  of  his  creator  as  was  the  purely  comic  aspect  that  it 
took  on  later.  The  next  actor  of  the  part  was  Thomas  Doggett,  whose 
name  appears  in  the  cast  of  characters  prefixed  to  the  printed  text  of 
the  so-called  Lansdowne  version  of  this  play,  first  published  in  1701. 
By  this  time  it  is  quite  clear  that  Shylock  had  become  by  custom  a low 
comedy  character.  No  account  of  Doggett’s  acting  in  this  part  sur- 
vives, but  he  was  an  habitual  actor  of  humorous  roles,  and  owing  to 
the  impossibility  of  treating  the  character  as  presented  in  Lord  Lans- 
downe’s  version  in  any  dignified  way,  it  seems  probable  that  he  played 
Shylock  as  a comic  character.  Our  old  friend  Downes,  the  pioneer 
historian  of  the  English  stage,  says  of  him  in  a general  way:  “ Mr. 
Doggett,  On  the  stage,  he’s  very  Aspectabund,  wearing  a Farce  in  his 
Face;  his  Thoughts  deliberately  framing  his  Utterance  Congruous  to 
his  Looks  : He  is  the  only  Comick  Original  now  Extant : Witness,  Ben , 
Solon,  Nikin , the  Jew  of  Venice , etc.” 

The  Lansdowne  version  was  adapted  from  Shakespeare’s  text  by 
George  Granville,  Viscount  Lansdowne,  and  while  — to  the  credit  of 
the  audiences  of  its  period  — it  does  not  seem  to  have  been  especially 
popular,  it  still  held  the  stage  to  the  exclusion  of  the  pure  text  for 
nearly  forty  years.  Lansdowne,  under  the  impression  that  he  was  im- 
proving the  play,  added  a prologue  in  which  the  ghosts  of  Shakespeare 
and  of  Dryden,  crowned  with  laurel,  hold  discourse  with  each  other, 
neither  author  doing  himself  much  credit  by  this  spectral  return  to  the 
stage.  The  ensuing  play  presented  selections  from  the  lines  of  Shake- 
speare, mingled  with  dreary  inanities  of  the  adapter’s  own  invention, 
and  altogether  omitted  the  characters  of  Tubel,  Launcelot  and  Old 
Gobbo.  Betterton  played  Bassanio  in  its  original  cast,  and  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle  Portia.  Doggett’s  successors  in  the  part  were  Benjamin 
Griffin  (1714)  and  Anthony  Aston  (1722). 

The  two  great  Shylocks  of  stage  history  are  Macklin  and  Kean. 
The  latter  represents  a great  personal  triumph ; the  former  not  merely 
that  but  also  a gratifying  revulsion  of  popular  feeling  toward  a great 


INTRO  D UCTION 


5 


author,  rescued  by  the  originality,  intelligence  and  native  force  of  a 
very  remarkable  figure  in  theatrical  history  from  a degrading  miscon- 
ception of  nearly  half  a century.  It  was  in  1741  that  Charles  Macklin, 
an  Irishman  who  had  dropped  his  native  McLaughlin  with  his  brogue, 
and  had  become  an  actor  of  good  reputation  in  London,  persuaded 
Fleetwood,  the  then  manager  of  Drury  Lane,  to  revive  the  piece.  His 
insight  had  enabled  him  to  perceive  the  dramatic  possibilities  of  the 
part,  so  long  submerged  in  the  muddy  deluge  of  the  Lansdowne  “ im- 
provements,” and  he  had  determined  to  adventure  the  verdict  of  the 
public  with  his  conception  of  the  character.  During  the  rehearsals  of 
the  play  he  was  wise  enough  not  to  invite  the  inevitable  opposition  of 
a timidly  conservative  management  by  the  least  hint  of  his  iconoclastic 
purpose.  It  necessarily  appeared,  however,  that  he  was  cutting  loose 
from  the  established  Lansdowne  in  the  employment  of  the  unmutilated 
text,  and  Mr.  Quin,  among  other  actor  critics,  went  so  far  as  to  say 
encouragingly  that  he  “ would  be  hissed  off  the  stage  for  his  arrogance 
and  presumption.”  Fleetwood  himself,  finally  aware  that  some  inno- 
vation was  on  foot,  remonstrated  with  the  stubborn  Macklin,  urging 
subtly  that  his  standing  as  an  actor  might  be  destroyed  altogether  by 
the  inevitable  failure  of  such  an  attempt ; but  the  player,  supported  by 
a sounder  good  sense  and  a better  judgment,  persisted  in  his  inten- 
tion, and  the  play  was  finally  announced  for  the  evening  of  February 
14,  1741,  with  the  inimitable  Kitty  Clive  as  Portia. 

When  the  night  came  the  house  was  crowded  in  every  part  within  a 
very  few  minutes  after  the  opening  of  the  doors.  Some  came  to  support 
the  actor  in  his  attempt,  and  some  to  oppose  him  with  hisses.  His  fellow- 
actors  were  apprehensive  of  failure  and  inclined  to  be  malicious  and 
unsympathetic.  The  manager  was  vociferous  in  the  expression  of  his 
fears  and  distress ; the  feelings  of  Macklin,  burdened  as  he  was  with 
the  sole  responsibility  for  this  attempt,  may  be  imagined.  Cooke’s 
“ Life  of  Macklin”  gives  a most  interesting  and  dramatic  account  of 
the  event  in  detail.  For  present  purposes  it  need  only  be  said  that  the 
actor’s  reception  in  the  part  was  cordial  and  his  hearing  a fair  one,  and 
that  in  the  great  scene  with  Tubal  in  the  third  act  his  final  triumph 
was  announced  in  thunders  of  applause  so  great  that  he  was  obliged  to 
pause  between  the  speeches  to  give  them  opportunity.  His  own  words 
will  best  sum  up  the  result  of  his  and  Shakespeare’s  triumph  on  that 
evening : “ On  my  return  to  the  green-room  after  the  play  was  over, 
it  was  crowded  with  nobility  and  critics,  who  all  complimented  me  in 
the  warmest  and  most  unbounded  manner;  and  the  situation  I felt 
myself  in  I must  confess  was  one  of  the  most  flattering  and  intoxi- 


6 


INTRO  D UCTION 


eating  of  my  whole  life.  No  money,  no  title,  could  purchase  what  I 
felt ; and  let  no  man  tell  me  after  this  what  Fame  will  not  inspire  a 
man  to  do,  and  how  far  the  attainment  of  it  will  not  remunerate  his 

greatest  labors.  By  G , sir,  though  I was  not  worth  fifty  pounds  in 

the  world  at  that  time,  yet,  let  me  tell  you,  I was  Charles  the  Great  for 
that  night.”  The  play  ran  twenty-one  nights,  a significantly  long  run 
for  that  time,  was  repeatedly  revived  in  that  and  later  seasons,  and 
firmly  established  Macklin’s  reputation.  George  II.  is  said  to  have 
been  unable  to  sleep  after  seeing  his  performance  of  the  Jew.  It  was 
of  Macklin  that  Pope  said,  on  the  third  night  of  the  play,  — 

This  is  the  Jew 

That  Shakespeare  drew. 

Macklin  dressed  the  part  of  Shylock  for  the  first  time  with  some 
attempt  at  historical  correctness,  wearing  a red  hat,  and  otherwise  aim- 
ing to  convey  some  flavor  of  the  place  and  period,  but  his  example  had 
but  small  influence  on  his  fellow-players.  Even  so  late  as  his  last  ap- 
pearance Miss  Pope,  his  Portia,  wore  the  wig  and  gown  of  an  English 
barrister  of  the  period,  while  the  Duke  of  Venice  presented  all  the 
externals  of  an  English  judge,  and  the  other  parts  were  dressed  in 
contemporary  street  costume.  Macklin  is  supposed  to  have  been  born 
in  May,  1690.  His  last  appearance  on  the  stage  took  place  on  May  7, 
1789,  in  the  part  of  Shylock,  for  his  own  benefit,  at  nearly  one  hun- 
dred years  of  age.  His  memory  not  unnaturally  failed  him,  and  Ryder, 
who  was  ready  for  such  an  emergency,  finished  the  part  for  him.  He 
lived  eight  years  longer — until  1797. 

Thirteen  years  after  Macklin’s  revival  — October  30,  1754  — Sheri- 
dan appeared  in  the  character  at  Covent  Garden,  to  the  first  perform- 
ance of  Portia  by  the  great  Woffington,  and  after  him  several  comedi- 
ans followed  in  the  footsteps  of  Doggett,  but  without  venturing  to  defy 
the  Macklin  tradition : Shuter,  the  Gobbo  of  the  Sheridan  cast,  to  the 
Portia  of  Mrs.  Hamilton,  on  May  3,  1759;  King,  the  original  Sir  Peter 
Teazle,  March  24,  1768,  to  the  Portia  of  Mrs.  Dancer;  Yates,  March 
27,  1770;  Digges,  at  the  Haymarket,  August  24,  1780;  Ryder,  at  the 
Haymarket,  June  22,  1790,  and  Harley,  at  Covent  Garden,  May  12, 
1796.  Henderson  appeared  in  the  character  at  the  Haymarket,  June 
it,  1777,  and  the  great  John  Philip  Kemble,  at  Drury  Lane,  to  the 
Portia  of  Miss  E.  Kemble,  January  22,  1784,  but  with  no  notable  suc- 
cess. Elliston  played  Shylock  at  the  Haymarket  to  the  Portia  of  Miss 
De  Camp,  at  her  first  appearance,  August  28,  1797,  and  G.  F.  Cooke 
appeared  in  the  part  at  Covent  Garden,  November  10,  1800,  to  Miss 


IN' TROD  UCTION. 


7 


Murray’s  Portia.  Charles  Young  acted  the  Jew  at  the  Haymarket  on 
the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Glover’s  first  appearance  as  Portia,  on  August  16, 
1809,  and  Stephen  Kemble  followed  him  at  Drury  Lane,  October  5, 
1813,  to  the  Portia  of  Miss  Smith. 

On  January  26,  1814,  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  occurred  the  memor- 
able debut  of  the  great  Edmund  Kean  in  this  character.  Engaged  by 
Arnold,  the  then  manager  of  the  house,  he  came  up  to  London  full  of 
high  hopes,  only  to  endure  a month  or  more  of  delay,  disappointment 
and  humiliation  while  some  dispute  as  to  his  prior  engagement  at  the 
Wych  St.  house  was  being  settled  with  Elliston,  -who  claimed  his  ser- 
vices. Poor  and  friendless,  his  salary  withheld  after  the  first  week, 
snubbed  by  his  fellow-actors  and  advised  by  many  on  a hasty  valuation 
of  his  mere  externals,  which  were  not  impressive,  to  abandon  a profes- 
sion in  which  he  could  never  hope  to  succeed,  he  remained  steadfast 
and  confident.  Finally  he  was  offered  a first  appearance,  but  advised 
to  make  it  in  a minor  character.  He  stood  fast  in  his  determination 
that  it  should  be  in  Shylock  or  in  nothing.  Huddart,  of  Dublin,  had 
recently  failed  in  this  same  part,  and  Sowerby,  another  man  banked  on 
as  a novelty,  had  not  succeeded,  so  it  was  finally  decided  to  give  the 
little  man  a chance  upon  his  own  terms.  He  was  only  five  feet  five 
inches  high,  and  hopes  for  him  were  in  strict  proportion  to  his  inches. 
Nearly  everything  was  against  him  : the  supporting  company  shirked 
rehearsals,  and  when  they  came  they  rehearsed  without  interest  and 
did  not  spare  the  new-comer  criticism  and  even  offensive  comment ; 
but  he  who  had  borne  much  was  able  to  bear  more.  The  night  of  his 
debut  was  bitterly  cold  and  the  house  was  half  empty  and  without  any 
helpful  enthusiasm.  He  wore  a black  wig  in  the  part — an  unheard-of 
innovation.  Yet  he  was  received  with  encouragement  and  ended  the 
act  to  significant  applause.  The  second  act  went  better  and  the  actor 
warmed  with  his  audience.  At  the  beginning  of  the  third  act  the 
doubting  actors  were  summoned  from  the  green-room  by  the  tumult  in 
front  to  be  witnesses  of  an  unprecedented  success.  In  a single  even- 
ing Edmund  Kean  had  taken  a place  high  above  the  heads  of  them  all 
with  probably  fewer  circumstances  to  aid  him  and  more  to  hold  him 
back  than  any  actor  ever  had  in  a similar  case.  It  has  been  said  that 
the  life  of  an  actor  is  less  intrinsically  dramatic  in  its  course  than  that 
of  most  men  ; Macklin  and  Kean  seem  to  offer  striking  exceptions  to 
this  statement. 

After  Kean,  Shylocks  multiplied  too  fast  to  be  reckoned.  Macready, 
who  first  played  the  part  at  Covent  Garden  May  13,  1823,  to  the  Portia 
of  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  was  the  first  to  make  the  Jew  an  old  man.  Samuel 


8 


IN  TROD  UCTION. 


Phelps,  who  had  played  Tubal  to  Edmund  Kean  in  1831  in  a small 
town  in  the  north  of  England,  and  had  attracted  his  favorable  notice  in 
the  character,  made  his  London  debut  in  the  part  of  Shylock  at  the 
Kaymarket,  August  28,  1837,  to  the  Portia  of  Miss  Huddart.  Charles 
Kean,  who,  suffering  from  a chronic  cold  in  the  head,  made  Shylock  a 
vegetarian  by  his  inescapable  mispronunciation  of  the  line,  “ When 
you  do  take  the  £eans  by  which  I live  ” first  appeared  in  the  part  June 
3,  1840,  at  the  Haymarket;  later,  in  1858,  he  gave  the  piece  a spectac- 
ular revival  at  the  Princess’s,  with  Mrs.  Kean  (Ellen  Tree)  as  Portia. 
Farren,  whose  conspicuous  leanness  of  person  stimulated  the  gallery  to 
obvious  repartee  in  the  scene  of  the  pound  of  flesh,  was  another  Shy- 
lock, and  Dowton  is  notable  as  one  of  the  few  who  utterly  failed  in 
the  part.  A long  list  of  recent  Shylocks  is  closed  by  the  well-remem- 
bered performance  of  Sir  Henry  Irving,  which  was  first  given  at  the 
Lyceum,  London,  November  1,  1879.  The  part  has  been  played  by 
women  — among  others,  by  Charlotte  Crampton  and  Mrs.  Macready. 

Portia  has  been  acted  by  a long  line  of  players  more  or  less  distin- 
guished, but  few  of  which  can  be  named.  The  Portias  of  the  Lans- 
downe  version  were  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  Mrs.  Bradshaw  and  Mrs.  Barry. 
There  is  no  record  of  any  earlier  players  of  the  part.  Kitty  Clive, 
Macklin’s  Portia,  had  the  success  of  a popular  favorite  merely.  She  is 
said  to  have  given  in  the  trial  scene  an  imitation  of  Lord  Mansfield, 
which  enables  us  to  measure  the  value  of  her  performance  with  some 
accuracy.  Miss  Macklin,  the  daughter  of  the  veteran,  whose  highest 
joy  it  was  to  play  men’s  parts,  naturally  found  Portia  to  her  liking,  and 
played  the  part  in  support  of  her  distinguished  father  at  Covent  Gar- 
den, April  13,  1776.  A life-long  difference  between  these  two,  father 
and  daughter,  resulted  from  a trifling  difference  of  opinion  as  to  a line 
in  the  trial  scene  of  this  play,  in  which  neither  would  yield.  Mrs. 
Abington  played  Portia  for  the  first  time  in  London  at  Drury  Lane, 
November  5,  1768,  having  made  her  first  appearance  in  the  character 
in  Dublin,  January  7,  1760.  The  great  Mrs.  Siddons  made  her  first 
appearance  in  London  as  Portia,  to  the  Shylock  of  King,  on  December 
29,  1775.  She  was  announced  as  “A  Young  Lady,”  and,  as  she  her- 
self says,  “was  merely  tolerated,”  and  went  back  to  the  provinces. 
Twenty-eight  years  later  (1803)  she  again  appeared  in  the  part  as  one 
of  a strong  cast  embracing  George  Frederick  Cooke  as  Shylock,  J.  P. 
Kemble  as  Antonio  and  Charles  Kemble  as  Bassanio.  A distinguished 
procession  of  later  Portias  is  impressively  brought  up  by  that  of  Miss 
Ellen  Terry,  Mr.  Irving’s  leading  support,  who  first  played  the  part  to 
the  Shylock  of  Charles  Coghlan  in  1874, 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


“The  Merchant  of  Venice ” was  the  first  play  produced  by  the 
Hallams,  who  headed  the  first  regular  company  to  give  theatrical  per- 
formances in  America.  This  performance  was  given  in  Williamsburgh, 
then  the  capital  of  Virginia,  a village  of  two  hundred  or  so  buildings 
and  perhaps  a thousand  souls,  September  5,  1752.  The  Hallam  Com- 
pany, just  arrived  from  England  on  “ The  Charming  Sally,”  acted  in 
an  adapted  warehouse  so  near  to  the  woods  that  the  actors  could  and 
did  shoot  pigeons  from  the  stage  door.  The  orchestra  consisted  of  Mr. 
Pelham  alone,  performing  upon  a harpsichord.  Mr.  Rigby,  later  the 
Bassanio,  spoke  the  prologue.  Mr.  Malone  was  the  Shylock  and  Mrs. 
Hallam  the  Portia.  Miss  Cheer  played  Portia  in  Philadelphia  in  1766, 
and  Mrs.  Osborne  in  Annapolis  in  1769.  Mrs.  Morris  appeared  in  the 
part  in  Philadelphia  in  1772  to  the  Shylock  of  Mr.  Henry,  described 
by  Hallam  as  “ a splendid  amateur  actor,”  and  Mrs.  Ryan  in  Baltimore 
in  1782,  supported  in  Launcelot  by  one  Mr.  Shakespeare — an  ama- 
teur, unfortunately,  and  not  “consanguineous.”  Between  the  dates 
of  these  two  performances  theatrical  prices  had  been  high  in  Philadel- 
phia— fifteen  dollars  admission  for  a child,  twenty  dollars  for  a seat  in 
the  gallery,  thirty  dollars  to  the  pit,  and  forty  to  the  boxes  — Conti- 
nental money.  Mrs,  Whitlock  (Elizabeth  Kemble)  was  the  first  “ star  ” 
to  make  a tour  of  the  United  States.  She  played  before  George 
Washington  in  Philadelphia,  and  was  engaged  for  four  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  and  a benefit  to  play  a season  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  in 
October,  1796,  where  she  appeared  as  Portia  among  other  things 
The  first  Shylock  seen  in  Boston  was  that  of  Mr.  Hipworth,  who  pre- 
sented himself  in  the  character  at  his  own  benefit  at  the  Federal  St. 
Theatre,  June  17,  1795,  to  Portia  of  Mrs.  Snelling  Powell,  who  had 
been  reckoned  in  England  as  second  only  to  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  of 
whom  George  III.  had  approved.  She  was  later  on  the  salary  list  of 
the  Haymarket  Theatre,  Boston,  at  forty-two  dollars  a week.  It  was 
at  this  house,  situated  at  the  corner  of  Tremont  and  Boylston  Sts., 
that  Mrs.  Giles  Leonard  Barrett,  the  second  Portia  to  delight  a Boston 
audience,  appeared  in  support  of  her  husband’s  Shylock,  on  January  27, 
1797.  She  was  a pupil  of  Macklin,  and  made  her  debut  as  one  of  his 
numerous  Portias.  A Mrs.  Henderson  played  Portia  in  Charleston 
in  1796. 

The  first  performance  of  the  “ Merchant  of  Venice  ” in  New  York  was 
given  at  the  John  St.  Theatre  in  1768.  Henry  J.  Finn  made  his  first 
American  appearance  in  the  part  at  the  Park  Theatre,  January  16, 
1818.  Edwin  Forrest  attempted  it  for  the  first  time  at  the  Bowery, 
July  23,  1827,  but  he  was  far  from  great  in  the  character,  and  plaved 


IO 


INTRO  D UC  TION. 


it  but  a few  times.  C.  W.  Couldock  played  Shylock  at  Castle  Garden, 
September  6,  1852,  the  occasion  being  the  centennial  of  the  first  Amer- 
ican production  of  the  play.  Mrs.  Vickery  was  the  Portia  and  Mr. 
Burton  the  Launcelot.  James  W.  Wallack  played  the  part  at  his  own 
house  December  9,  1858.  Mrs.  Hoey  was  the  Portia  and  Lester  Wal- 
lack the  Bassanio.  Edwin  Booth  first  played  the  Jew  in  New  York  at 
Tripler  Hall,  February  11,  1861.  He  appeared  in  this  character  at  the 
Haymarket,  London,  on  September  30  in  the  same  year,  to  the  Portia 
of  Mrs.  Charles  Young  (Mrs.  Herman  Vezin),  and  made  an  elaborate 
production  of  the  play  at  Winter  Garden,  New  York,  on  January  28, 
1867,  that  ran  for  seven  weeks.  Matilda  Heron,  one  of  the  innumer- 
able Portias  of  native  growth,  first  appeared  in  the  part  at  Laura 
Kesne’s  Varieties,  New  York,  May  8,  1863.  Charlotte  Cushman 
played  Portia  more  than  once,  but  it  was  only  a rivet  in  her  crown  and 
not  a jewel. 

In  the  year  1787  “ The  Merchant  of  Venice  ” fell  into  the  hands  of 
one  of  the  innumerable  army  of  mediocre  German  composers,  Mr.  J.  A. 
Just,  who  set  it  to  music  in  an  opera  that  was  performed  for  the  first 
and  last  time  in  Amsterdam.  The  play  was  later  turned  into  an  opera 
said  to  have  possessed  considerable  merit,  by  an  Italian,  Signor  Petrella. 
The  play  has  been  acted  a good  deal  in  Germany,  and  is  an  established 
item  of  the  German  repertoire.  It  was  played  eighty-four  times  in 
1896  and  sixty-two  times  in  1897  in  that  country.  It  was  plagiarized 
by  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  (1619-1655)  in  his  “ Agrippina,”  and  while  it 
has  never  been  acted  in  a French  version,  it  has  been  more  than  once 
presented  in  Paris  in  English  by  English  actors,  notably  by  Edmund 
Kean. 

A Japanese  version  of  this  play  was  produced  by  a Japanese  com- 
pany at  the  Bijou  Theatre,  New  York,  March  12,  1900. 

F.  E.  Chase. 


June  12, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.  — Venice . Set  represents  a public  place.  Back  drop 
in  four  represents  the  Grand  Canal  with  ships  with 
colored  sails  i?i  foreground  at  L.  Sunshi?ie  on  set  and  dur- 
ing  the  action.  Carriers  laden  with  packs  pass  back  and 
forward  as  if  lading  ships.  One  or  two  groups  of  sailors 
a?id  gondoliers  dress  the  scene  up  stage  and  move  about 
during  actio?i.  Entrances  marked  with  houses  at  both  r. 
and  L. 

LIGHTS  full  up* 

(When  the  curtain  is  well  up , enter,  fro?n  r.  u.  e.,  Anton  to 
followed  by  Salarino  a?id  Salanio.  Antonio  is  a staid \ 
bearded  man  of  dignified  bearing , wearing  a long  tunic  and 
hat  of  rich  black  velvet.  Salarino  and  Salanio  are 
younger , and  dressed  i?i  gay  colors  ) 

Antonio  (as  if  replying  to  a reproach  on  his  sad  man?ier,  as 
they  come  down).  In  sooth,  I know  not  why  I am  so  sad  ; 
It  wearies  me ; you  say  it  wearies  you ; 

But  how  I caught  it,  found  it  or  came  by  it, 

What  stuff  ’tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 

I am  to  learn ; 

And  such  a want-wit  sadness  makes  of  me 

That  I have  much  ado  to  know  myself.  (Stops  at  c.) 

Salarino  (at  l.).  Your  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean; 
There,  where  your  argosies  with  portly  sail  — 

Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  on  the  flood, 

Or,  as  it  were,  the  pageants  of  the  sea  — 

Do  overpeer  the  petty  traffickers 
That  curt’sy  to  them,  do  them  reverence, 

As  they  fly  by  them  with  their  woven  wings. 

ii 


12 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE , 


Salanio  (at  r.).  Believe  me,  sir,  had  I such  venture  forth, 
The  better  part  of  my  affections  would 
Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.  I should  be  still 
Plucking  the  grass  to  know  where  sits  the  wind ; 

Peering  in  maps  for  ports  and  piers  and  roads ; 

And  every  object  that  might  make  me  fear 
Misfortune  to  my  ventures,  out  of  doubt, 

Would  make  me  sad. 

Salar.  My  wind,  cooling  my  broth, 

Would  blow  me  to  an  ague  when  I thought 
What  harm  a wind  too  great  might  do  at  sea, 

I should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run, 

But  I should  think  of  shallows  and  of  flats ; 

And  see  my  wealthy  Andrew  dock’d  in  sand, 

Vailing  her  high-top  lower  than  her  ribs, 

To  kiss  her  burial.  Shall  I have  the  thought 
To  think  on  this ; and  shall  I lack  the  thought, 

That  such  a thing  bechanc’d,  would  make  me  sad  ? 

But  tell  not  me  ; I know  Antonio 
Is  sad  to  think  upon  his  merchandise. 

Ant.  Believe  me,  no.  I thank  my  fortune  for  it, 

My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted, 

Nor  to  one  place  ; nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year. 

Therefore  my  merchandise  makes  me  not  sad. 

Salan.  Why  then  you  are  in  love. 

Ant.  Fye,  fye  ! 

Salan.  Not  in  love,  neither  ? Then  let’s  say  you  are  sad, 
Because  you  are  not  merry ; and  ’twere  as  easy 
For  you  to  laugh,  and  leap  and  say  you  are  merry 
Because  you  are  not  sad.  Now  by  two-headed  Janus, 
Nature  hath  framed  strange  fellows  in  her  time  ; 

Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes 
And  laugh  like  parrots  at  a bagpiper ; 

And  other  of  such  vinegar  aspect, 

That  they’ll  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughable. 

Here  comes  Bassanio,  your  most  noble  kinsman, 

Gratiano  and  Lorenzo.  Fare  you  well.  ( Passes  behind  An- 
tonio to  join  Salarino  at  l.) 

We  leave  you  now  with  better  company. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


*3 


Salar.  ( saluting  Antonio  as  he  and  Salanio  move  up  tow- 
ard l.).  I would  have  staid  till  I had  made  you  merry, 
If  worthier  friends  had  not  prevented  me. 

Ant.  Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 

I take  it  your  own  business  calls  on  you, 

And  you  embrace  the  occasion  to  depart. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Lorenzo  and  Gratiano  at  r.  i e.  Lor- 
enzo is  the  youngest  of  the  three , Bassanio  the  most  distin- 
guished and  Gratiano  the  gayest . 

Salar.  ( greeting  them).  Good  morrow,  my  good  lords. 
Bassanio  ( crossing  quickly  to  l.).  Good  signiors  both, 
when  shall  we  laugh  ? Say  when  ? 

(Lorenzo  and  Gratiano  talk  with  Antonio.) 

You  grow  exceeding  strange.  (As  Salanio  and  Salarino 
show  by  a gesture  that  they  have  business  elsewhere.) 

Must  it  be  so  ? 

Salar.  We’ll  make  our  leisures  to  attend  on  yours. 

Exeunt  Salarino  and  Salanio  at  l.  3 e. 

Lorenzo  (crossing  to  l.  c.).  My  lord  Bassanio,  since  you 
have  found  Antonio, 

We  two  will  leave  you ; but  at  dinner  time, 

I pray  you,  have  in  mind  where  we  must  meet. 

Bass,  (at  l.).  I will  not  fail  you. 

Gratiano  (r.).  You  look  not  well,  Signior  Antonio ; 

You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world. 

They  lose  it  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 

Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  changed. 

Ant.  (c.).  I hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano ; 

A stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a part, 

And  mine  a sad  one. 

Gra.  Let  me  play  the  fool ; 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come ; 

And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 

Why  should  a man  whose  blood  is  warm  within 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


14 

Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster  ? 

Sleep  when  he  wakes?  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 
By  being  peevish  ? I tell  thee  what,  Antonio,  — 

I love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks : 

There  are  a sort  of  men  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a standing  pond, 

And  do  a wilful  stillness  entertain, 

With  purpose  to  be  dressed  in  an  opinion 

(. During  this  speech  all  the  action  up  stage  has  ceased , and  the 
sailors,  porters  and  gondoliers  who  have  dressed  the  scene 
move  away  to  leave  it  free  for  the  rest  of  the  action .) 

Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit; 

As  who  should  say,  “ I am  Sir  Oracle, 

And  when  I ope  my  lips  let  no  dog  bark ! ” 

Oh,  my  Antonio,  I do  know  of  these, 

That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise 
For  saying  nothing. 

I’ll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  time. 

Come,  good  Lorenzo.  Fare  ye  well  a while  ; 

I’ll  end  my  exhortation  after  dinner. 

Lor.  (to  Bassanio).  Well,  we  will  leave  you  then  till  din- 
ner time. 

I must  be  one  of  these  same  dumb  wise  men, 

For  Gratiano  never  lets  me  speak.  (Crosses  to  r.) 

Gra.  (linking  his  arm  in  Lorenzo’s).  Well,  keep  me 
company  but  two  years  more, 

Thou  shalt  not  know  the  sound  of  thine  own  tongue. 

Ant.  Farewell.  I’ll  grow  a talker  for  this  gear. 

Gra.  Thanks,  i’faith  ; for  silence  only  is  commendable 
In  a neat’s  tongue  dried  and  a maid  not  vendible. 

Exeunt  Gratiano  and  Lorenzo  at  r. 

Ant.  Is  that  anything  now  ? 

Bass.  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing — more 
than  any  man  in  all  Venice.  His  reasons  are  as  two  grains 
of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff ; you  shall  seek  all  day 
ere  you  find  them,  and  when  you  have  them  they  are  not 
worth  the  search. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


*5 


Ant.  (who  has  been  gazing  after  Lorenzo  and  Gratiano, 
turns  to  Bassanio,  and  with  a change  of  manner  and  tone 
from  indifference  to  affectionate  interest , places  his  hands  on 
his  friend's  shoulders  and  looks  in  his  face).  Well ; tell 
me  now  what  lady  is  this  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a secret  pilgrimage 
That  you  to-day  promis’d  to  tell  me  of  ? 

Bass.  ( returning  Antonio’s  frank  gaze),  ?Tis  not  un- 
known to  you,  Antonio, 

How  much  I have  disabled  mine  estate 
By  something  showing  a more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance. 

Nor  do  I now  make  moan  to  be  abridged 
From  such  a noble  rate  ; but  my  chief  care 
Is  to  come  fairly  off  from  the  great  debts 
Wherein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal, 

Hath  left  me  gaged.  To  you,  Antonio, 

I owe  the  most,  in  money  and  in  love ; 

And  from  your  love  I have  a warranty 
To  unburthen  all  my  plots  and  purposes, 

How  to  get  clear  of  all  the  debts  I owe. 

Ant.  I pray  you,  good  Bassanio,  let  me  know  it ; 

And  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do, 

Within  the  eye  of  honor,  be  assur’d  (with  an  outward  gesture , 
as  he  takes  his  hands  from  Bassanio’s  shoulders , as  if  offer- 
ing his  friend  everythmg  he  had  ) 

My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means, 

Lie  all  unlocked  to  your  occasions. 

Bass,  (moving  down  r.,  after  a moment's  pause).  In  my 
school  days,  when  I had  lost  one  shaft, 

I shot  his  fellow  of  the  selfsame  flight 
The  selfsame  way,  with  more  advised  watch, 

To  find  the  other  forth ; and,  by  adventuring  both, 

I oft  found  both  ; I urge  this  childhood  proof, 

Because  what  follows  is  pure  innocence. 

I owe  you  much ; and,  like  a wilful  youth, 

That  which  I owe  is  lost ; but  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I do  not  doubt, 

As  I will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  find  both 
Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  again, 

And  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  first. 


i6 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Ant.  You  know  me  well ; and  herein  spend  but  time 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  circumstance ; 

And,  out  of  doubt,  you  do  me  now  more  wrong 
In  making  question  of  my  uttermost, 

Than  if  you  had  made  waste  of  all  I have. 

Then  do  but  say  to  me  what  I should  do, 

That  in  your  knowledge  may  by  me  be  done, 

And  I am  prest  unto  it ; therefore,  speak. 

Bass.  In  Belmont  is  a lady  richly  left, 

And  she  is  fair,  and,  fairer  than  that  word, 

Of  wondrous  virtues.  Sometimes  from  her  eyes 
I did  receive  fair  speechless  messages. 

Her  name  is  Portia ; nothing  undervalued 
To  Cato’s  daughter,  Brutus’  Portia. 

Nor  is  the  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth ; 

For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors ; and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  her  temples  like  a golden  fleece ; 

Which  makes  her  seat  of  Belmont  Colchos’  strand, 

And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 

Oh,  my  Antonio,  had  I but  the  means 
To  hold  a rival  place  with  one  of  them, 

I have  a mind  presages  me  such  thrift 
That  I should  questionless  be  fortunate. 

WARN  change* 

SIGNAL  lights  down* 

Ant.  ( reflects  a moment  and  then , coming  down  to  Bassanio, 
places  a hand  on  his  shoulder  affectionately ).  Thou  know’st 
that  all  my  fortunes  are  at  sea  ; 

Neither  have  I money  nor  commodity 
To  raise  a present  sum  ; therefore  go  forth, 

Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do ; 

That  shall  be  rack’d,  even  to  the  uttermost, 

To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont  to  fair  Portia. 

Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 

Where  money  is,  and  I no  question  make 
To  have  it  of  my  trust  or  for  my  sake. 


Exeunt  together , r.  i e. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


17 


LIGHTS  down  for  change* 
CHANGE  set* 

Scene  II. — Lights  up,  disclosing  a part  of  the  garden  in  Por- 
tia’s house  at  Belmont.  Back  drop  in  two  represents  a 
terrace  with  flowers  and  trees . A flight  of  stone  steps  leads 
up  to  it,  and  at  L.  c.  is  a practical  stone  seat  on  which  there 
are  some  gay  cushions  and  a book . 

LIGHTS  full  up* 

Enter  Portia  at  once  at  l.  i e.,. followed  by  Nerissa. 

Portia  ( with  a sigh  that  is  almost  a groan  as  she  drops  into 
the  seat).  By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  a-weary  of 
this  great  world. 

Nerissa  ( standing  behind  Portia).  You  would  be,  sweet 
madam,  if  your  miseries  were  in  the  same  abundance  as  your 
good  fortunes  are.  And  yet,  for  aught  I see,  they  are  as 
sick  that  surfeit  with  too  much  as  they  that  starve  with  noth- 
ing. It  is  no  mean  happiness,  therefore,  to  be  seated  in  the 
mean ; superfluity  comes  sooner  by  white  hairs,  but  compe- 
tency lives  longer. 

Por.  ( shrugging  her  shoulders  wearily ).  Good  sentences 
and  well  pronounced. 

Ner.  ( coming  down  r.  c.).  They  would  be  better  if  well 
followed. 

Por.  If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good 
to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches  and  poor  men’s  cottages 
prince’s  palaces.  It  is  a good  divine  that  follows  his  own 
instructions.  I can  easier  teach  twenty  what  were  good  to 
be  done,  than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own 
teaching.  But  this  reasoning  is  not  in  the  fashion  to  choose 
me  a husband.  Oh,  me,  the  word  choose ! I may  neither 
choose  whom  I would  nor  refuse  whom  I dislike ; so  is  the 
will  of  a living  daughter  curb’d  by  the  will  of  a dead  father. 
Is  it  not  hard,  Nerissa,  that  I cannot  choose  one  nor  refuse 
none  ? 

Ner.  Your  father  was  ever  virtuous  ; and  holy  men  at 
their  death  have  good  inspirations  ; therefore  the  lottery  that 
he  hath  devised  in  these  three  chests  of  gold,  silver  and  lead 


i8 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


(whereof  who  chooses  his  meaning,  chooses  you)  will,  no 
doubt,  never  be  chosen  by  any  rightly  but  one  who  you  shall 
rightly  love.  But  what  warmth  is  there  in  your  affection 
towards  any  of  these  princely  suitors  that  are  already  come  ? 

Por.  I pray  thee  over-name  them  ; and  as  thou  namest 
them  I will  describe  them  ; and  according  to  my  description 
level  at  my  affection. 

Ner.  {as  if  listing  them  off  on  her  fingers ).  First,  there  is 
the  Neapolitan  prince. 

Por.  ( with  a grimace').  Ay,  that’s  a colt,  indeed,  for  he 
doth  nothing  but  talk  of  his  horse ; and  he  makes  it  a great 
appropriation  to  his  own  good  parts  that  he  can  shoe  him 
himself.  {Rise  si) 

Ner.  Then  is  there  the  county  Palatine. 

Por.  He  doth  nothing  but  frown ; as  who  should  say 
{striking  an  attitude  in  imitatio?i  of  himfi  “ An  if  you  will 
'iot  have  me,  choose. ” He  hears  merry  tales  and  smiles 
not.  I fear  he  will  prove  the  weeping  philosopher  when  he 
grows  old,  being  so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in  his  youth. 
I had  rather  be  married  to  a death’s  head  with  a bone  in  his 
mouth  than  to  either  of  these.  God  defend  me  from  these 
two ! 

Ner.  How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  Monsieur  Le 
Bon  ? 

Por.  {quickly)  God  made  him  and  therefore  let  him  pass 
for  a man. 

Ner.  How  like  you  the  young  German,  the  Duke  of 
Saxony’s  nephew  ? 

Por.  {with  a grimace  of  disgust).  Very  vilely  in  the  morn- 
ing when  he  is  sober,  and  most  vilely  in  the  afternoon  when 
he  is  drunk ; when  he  is  best  he  is  a little  worse  than  a man ; 
and  when  he  is  worst,  he  is  little  better  than  a beast.  An’ 
the  worst  fall  that  ever  fell,  I hope  I shall  make  shift  to  go 
without  him. 

Ner.  If  he  should  offer  to  choose,  and  choose  the  right 
casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your  father’s  will  if  you 
should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

Por.  {with  emphasis , as  she  goes  to  Nerissa).  Therefore, 
for  fear  of  the  worst,  I pray  thee  set  a deep  glass  of  Rhenish 
wine  on  the  contrary  casket ; for,  if  the  devil  be  within  and 
that  temptation  without,  I know  he  will  choose  it. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


*9 


Ner.  You  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any  of  these 
lords  ; they  have  acquainted  me  with  their  determination, 
which  is,  indeed,  to  return  to  their  home  and  to  trouble  you 
with  no  more  suit. 

Por.  (with  a gesture  of  thanking  heave?i,  sinks  with  a sigh  of 
relief  into  her  seat  again).  I am  glad  this  parcel  of  wooers 
are  so  reasonable ; for  there  is  not  one  among  them  but  I 
dote  on  his  very  absence,  and  I pray  God  grant  them  a fair 
departure. 

Ner.  (passing  behind  Portia).  Do  you  not  remember, 
lady,  in  your  fathers  time,  a Venetian,  a scholar  and  a sol- 
dier, that  came  hither  in  company  of  the  Marquis  of  Mont- 
ferrat  ? 

Por.  Yes,  yes,  it  was  Bassanio ; as  I think,  so  was  he 
called. 

Ner.  True,  madam ; he,  of  all  the  men  that  ever  my 
foolish  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best  deserving  a fair  lady. 

Por.  I remember  him  well ; and  I remember  him  worthy 
of  thy  praise. 

Enter  Balthazar  at  l.  i e. 

(To  him.)  How  now!  What  news  ? 

RING  lights  down  for  change* 

Balthazar.  The  four  strangers  seek  for  you,  madam,  to 
take  their  leave ; and  there  is  a forerunner  come  from  a 
fifth,  the  Prince  of  Morocco,  who  brings  word  the  prince,  his 
master,  will  be  here  to-night. 

Por.  If  I could  bid  the  fifth  welcome  with  so  good  heart 
as  I can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  I should  be  glad  of  his 
approach.  (Rising.)  Come,  Nerissa.  (Placing  her  hand  on 
Nerissa’s  shoulder.  To  Balthazar.)  Sirrah,  go  before. 

Exit  Balthazar,  l.  i e. 

Whiles  we  shut  the  gate  on  one  wooer  another  knocks  at  the 
door. 

Exeunt,  gaily , Portia  and  Nerissa,  l.  i e. 

STAGE  darkened  for  change* 


20 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Scene  III. — Lights  up  to  disclose  same  set  as  Scene  i.  Shy- 
lock  enters  from  r.  u.  e.,  muttering  to  himself  and  fol- 
lowed by  Bassanio.  He  comes  down  to  c.  and  stands  a 
moment , while  Bassanio  follows  him  to  l.  c. 

LIGHTS  full  up# 

Shylock  ( leaning  both  hands  on  his  cane  and  looking  keenly 
at  Bassanio).  Three  thousand  ducats — well. 

Bass.  Ay,  sir,  for  three  months. 

Shy.  For  three  months  — well. 

Bass.  For  the  which,  as  I told  you,  Antonio  shall  be 
bound. 

Shy.  Antonio  shall  become  bound  — well. 

Bass.  May  you  stead  me  ? Will  you  pleasure  me  ? Shall 
I know  your  answer  ? 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats,  for  three  months,  and  An- 
tonio bound. 

Bass.  Your  answer  to  that. 

Shy.  (as  if  reflecting').  Antonio  is  a good  man. 

Bass,  (sharply).  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the 
contrary  ? 

Shy.  (in  a conciliatory  tone).  No — no,  no,  no,  no;  my 
meaning  in  saying  that  he  is  a good  man  is  to  have  you  un- 
derstand me  that  he  is  sufficient ; yet  his  means  are  in  sup- 
position. He  hath  an  argosy  bound  to  Tripolis,  another  to 
the  Indies ; I understand  moreover,  upon  the  Rialto,  he  hath 
a third  at  Mexico,  a fourth  for  England  — and  other  ventures 
he  hath,  squander’d  abroad.  But  ships  are  but  boards,  sail- 
ors but  men ; there  be  land  rats  and  water  rats,  land  thieves 
and  water  thieves  — I mean  pirates ; and  then  there  is  the 
peril  of  waters,  winds  and  rocks.  The  man  is,  notwithstand- 
ing, sufficient ; three  thousand  ducats  — I think  I may  take 
his  bond. 

Bass.  Be  assured  you  may. 

Shy.  I will  be  assured  I may ; and  that  I may  be  as- 
sured, I will  bethink  me.  May  I speak  with  Antonio  ? 

Bass.  If  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us. 

Shy.  Yes,  to  smell  pork  ; to  eat  of  the  habitation  which 
your  prophet,  the  Nazarite,  conjured  the  devil  into.  I will 
buy  with  you,  sell  with  you,  talk  with  you,  walk  with  you, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


21 


and  so  following,  but  I will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with  you, 
nor  pray  with  you.  ( Looking  off  l.)  What  news  on  the 
Rialto  ? Who  comes  here  ? 

Bass.  ( turning  to  follow  Shylock’s  gaze).  This  is  Signior 
Antonio.  ( Hurries  ojffi to  meet  him.) 

Shy.  ( looking  off  l.  as  he  remams  alone  on  stage ; to  him- 
self). How  like  a fawning  publican  he  looks ! 

I hate  him  for  he  is  a Christian  ; 

But  more  for  that  in  low  simplicity 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice.  ( Coming  down 
c.,  reflecting , as  Antonio  and  Bassanio  come  on  at  l.  to- 
gether in  earnest  conversation.  He  does  not  notice  them  as 
they  come  down  l.  c.  and  wait  for  him  to  give  his  decision .) 
If  I can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I bear  him. 

He  hates  our  sacred  nation ; and  he  rails, 

Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 

On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift, 

Which  he  calls  interest.  Cursed  be  my  tribe 
If  I forgive  him ! 

Bass.  ( quitting  Antonio  and  approaching  Shylock  ; stops 
at  L.  C.).  Shylock! 

(Shylock  keeps  on  muttering .) 

Do  you  hear  ? 

Shy.  (without  looking  toward  him).  I am  debating  of  my 
present  store, 

And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 

I cannot  instantly  raise  up  the  gross 

Of  full  three  thousand  ducats.  What  of  that  ? 

Tubal,  a wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe, 

Will  furnish  me.  But  soft.  How  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ? ( Looks  up  as  if  seeing  Antonio  for  the  first 

timel)  Rest  you  fair,  good  signior  ; 

Your  Worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 

Ant.  (disregarding  Shylock ’s  half  servile  manner;  at  l.). 
Shylock,  albeit  that  I neither  lend  nor  borrow 
By  taking  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 

Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants  of  my  friend, 


22 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


I’ll  break  a custom.  (To  Bassanio.)  Is  he  yet  possess’d 
How  much  you  would  ? 

Shy.  Ay,  ay,  three  thousand  ducats. 

Ant.  And  for  three  months. 

Shy.  I had  forgot.  (To  Bassanio.)  Three  months,  you 
told  me  so. 

Well,  then,  your  bond;  and,  let  me  see — (To  Antonio.) 
But  hear  you  ; 

Methought  you  said  you  neither  lend  nor  borrow 
Upon  advantage. 

Ant.  I do  never  use  it. 

Shy.  When  Jacob  grazed  his  Uncle  Laban’s  sheep, 

This  Jacob  from  our  holy  Abraham  was 
(As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  behalf) 

The  third  possessor ; ay,  he  was  the  third. 

Ant.  And  what  of  him  ? Did  he  take  interest  ? 

Shy.  No,  not  take  interest ; not  as  you  would  say, 
Directly  interest ; mark  what  Jacob  did. 

When  Laban  and  himself  were  compromised 
That  all  the  eanlings  which  were  streak’d  and  pied 
Should  fall  as  Jacob’s  hire,  the  ewes,  being  rank, 

The  skilful  shepherd  peel’d  me  certain  wands, 

And  m the  doing  of  the  deed  of  kind, 

He  stuck  them  up  before  the  fulsome  ewes ; 

Who,  then  conceiving,  did  in  eaning  time 

Fall  party-color ’d  lambs  ; and  those  were  Jacob’s. 

This  was  a way  to  thrive,  and  he  was  blest ; 

And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

Ant.  This  was  a venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  served  for 
A thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 

But  sway’d  and  fashion’d  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 

Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 

Or  is  your  gold  and  silver  ewes  and  rams  ? 

Shy.  I cannot  tell ; I make  it  breed  as  fast. 

But  note  me,  signior  — 

Ant.  (with  scorn;  aside  to  Bassanio).  Mark  you  this. 
Bassanio, 

The  devil  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purpose. 

An  evil  soul  producing  holy  witness 
Is  like  a villain  with  a smiling  cheek ; 

A goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart. 

Oh,  what  a goodly  outside  falsehood  hath ! 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


23 


Shy.  ( reflecting ).  Three  thousand  ducats  — ’tis  a round 
sum. 

Three  months  from  twelve  — then  let  me  see  the  rate. 

Ant.  ( impatiently ).  Well,  Shy  lock,  shall  we  be  beholden 
to  you  ? 

Shy.  Signior  Antonio,  many  a time  and  oft 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies  and  my  usances  ; 

Still  have  I borne  it  with  a patient  shrug, 

For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe.  ( Touching  his 

yellow  cap  which  by  the  laws  of  Ve?iice  all  Jews  were 
obliged  to  wear.) 

You  call  me  misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog, 

And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine, 

And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 

Well,  then,  it  now  appears  you  need  my  help. 

Go  to,  then  ; you  come  to  me  and  you  say  : 

‘ Shylock,  we  would  have  monies.”  You  say  so  — 

You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 

And  foot  me,  as  you  spurn  a stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold ; monies  is  your  suit. 

What  shall  I say  to  you  ? Should  I not  say : 

“ Hath  a dog  money  ? is  it  possible 
A cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats  ? ” Or 
Shall  I bend  low,  and  in  a bondman’s  key, 

With  ’bated  breath  and  whispering  humbleness, 

Say  this : 

“ Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last ; 

You  spurn’d  me  such  a day ; another  time 
You  call’d  me  — dog  ; and  for  these  courtesies 
I’ll  lend  you  thus  much  monies  ? ” 

Ant.  (in  anger).  I am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again, 

To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 

If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 

As  to  thy  friends ; (for  when  did  friendship  take 

A breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend  ? ) 

But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy ; 

Who,  if  he  break,  thou  may’st  with  better  face 
Exact  the  penalty. 

Shy.  Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  ! 

I would  be  friends  with  you  and  have  your  love, 


24 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain’d  me  with, 

Supply  your  present  wants,  and  take  no  doit 
Of  usance  for  my  monies,  and  you’ll  not  hear  me. 

This  is  kind  I offer. 

Ant.  This  were  kindness. 

Shy.  This  kindness  will  I show. 

Go  with  me  to  a notary  ; seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond ; and,  in  a merry  sport, 

If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a day, 

In  such  a place,  such  sum,  or  sums,  as  are 
Express’d  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 
Be  nominated  ( hesitates , as  if  seeking  what  useless  forfeit  he 
ought  for  form's  sake  to  name ) : for  an  equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

Ant.  Content,  in  faith ; I’ll  seal  to  such  a bond, 

And  say  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

Bass,  {quickly ; in  some  alarm).  You  shall  not  seal  to  such 
a bond  for  me, 

I’ll  rather  dwell  in  my  necessity. 

Ant.  (gaily).  Why,  fear  not,  man  ; I will  not  forfeit  it ; 
Within  these  two  months,  that’s  a month  before 
This  bond  expires,  I do  expect  return 
Of  thrice  three  times  the  value  of  this  bond. 

Shy.  (casting  up  his  eyes).  O father  Abraham,  what  these 
Christians  are ! 

Whose  own  hard  dealing  teaches  them  suspect 
The  thoughts  of  others!  (To  Bassanio.)  Pray,  you,  tell 
me  this : 

If  he  should  break  his  day,  what  should  I gain 
By  the  exaction  of  the  forfeiture  ? 

A pound  of  man’s  flesh  taken  from  a man 
Is  not  so  estimable,  profitable  neither, 

As  flesh  of  muttons,  beefs  or  goats.  I say 

WARN  curtain* 

To  buy  his  favor  I extend  this  friendship. 

If  he  will  take  it,  so ; if  not,  adieu.  (Starts  to  go  up  stage 
toward  L.) 

And  for  my  love  I pray  you  wrong  me  not. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


25 


Ant.  ( staying  him).  Yes,  Shylock,  I will  seal  unto  this 
bond. 

Shy.  {up  c.).  Then  meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary’s ; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond, 

And  I will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight ; 

See  to  my  house,  left  in  the  fearful  guard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave  ; and  presently 
I will  be  with  you. 

Exit,  l.  u.  E. 

Ant.  {with  a laughing  gesture  of  farewell ).  Hie  thee,  gen- 
tle Jew. 

{Turning  back  to  Bassanio,  who  stands  sadly  at  l.  c.).  This 
Hebrew  will  turn  Christian ; he  grows  kind. 

Bass.  I like  not  fair  terms  and  a villain’s  mind. 

RING  curtain* 

Ant.  Come  on  ; in  this  there  can  be  no  dismay  ; 

My  ships  come  home  a month  before  the  day. 

Exeunt  together , Antonio  with  his  arm  thrown  over  Bassanio’s 
shoulder , their  moods  quite  cha7iged  — Antonio  gay,  Bas- 
sanio depressed. 

SLOW  CURTAIN. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.  — Street  beside  a bridge  over  one  of  the  smaller  canals 
in  Venice.  The  canal  and  street  run  obliquely  from  L.  2 E. 
to  R.  u.  e.  Practical  bridge  crosses  the  canal  from  R.  3 e.  to 
L.  u.  e.  Practical  steps  at  R.  Entrances  at  R.  1 E.  and 
L.  1 E.  on  stage , L.  u.  e.  over  the  bridge , and  for  gondolas 
by  canal  in  L.  2 e.  and  r.  u.  e.  At  L.,  between  first  en- 
trance and  bridge , is  Shylock ’s  house.  A wide , low  door 
with  one  step  gives  e7itrance  to  it,  and  over  the  door  is  a 
small  window  a7id  balcony. 


LIGHTS  full  up* 


26 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Enter  Launcelot  from  house  at  l. 

Launcelot  ( coming  to  c.  and  looking  ruefully  at  the  house , 
as  he  rubs  his  head  i?i  perplexity).  Certainly  my  conscience 
would  serve  me  to  run  from  this  Jew,  my  master.  The  fiend 
is  at  my  elbow,  and  tempts  me,  saying  to  me,  u Gobbo,  Laun- 
celot Gobbo,  good  Launcelot,  or  good  Gobbo,  or  good  Laun- 
celot Gobbo,  use  your  legs,  take  the  start,  run  away.”  My 
conscience  says,  “No;  take  heed,  honest  Launcelot ; take 
heed,  honest  Gobbo.”  Or,  as  aforesaid,  “ Honest  Launcelot 
Gobbo,  do  not  run  ; scorn  running  with  thy  heels.”  Well, 
the  most  courageous  fiend  bids  me  pack.  “Via!  ” says  the 
fiend.  “Away!”  says  the  fiend.  “For  the  heavens,  rouse 
up  a brave  mind,”  says  the  fiend,  “ and  run.”  Well,  my 
conscience,  hanging  about  the  neck  of  my  heart,  says  very 
wisely  to  me,  “ My  honest  friend  Launcelot,  being  an  honest 
man’s  son”  — or,  rather,  an  honest  woman’s  son,  for  indeed 
my  father  elfd  something  smack,  something  grow  to ; he  had 
a kind  of  taste.  Well,  my  conscience  says,  “ Launcelot, 
budge  not.”  “ Budge,”  says  the  fiend.  “ Budge  not,”  says 
my  conscience.  “Conscience,”  says  I,  “you  counsel  well; 
fiend,”  says  I,  “ you  counsel  well.”  To  be  ruled  by  my 
conscience,  I should  stay  with  the  Jew,  my  master,  who  (God 
bless  the  mark !)  is  a kind  of  devil.  And  to  run  away  from 
the  Jew,  I should  be  ruled  by  the  fiend,  who,  saving  your 
reverence,  is  the  devil  himself.  Certainly  the  Jew  is  the 
very  devil  incarnal,  and,  in  my  conscience,  my  conscience  is 
but  a kind  of  hard  conscience  to  offer  to  counsel  me  to  stay 
with  the  Jew.  The  fiend  gives  the  more  friendly  counsel ; I 
will  run,  fiend.  My  heels  are  at  your  command  ; I will  run. 

Gobbo  ( outside , at  r.).  Master  young  man,  you  ; I pray 
you  which  is  the  way  to  master  Jew’s  ? 

Laun.  (aside).  Oh,  heavens,  this  is  my  true  begotten 
father ! who,  being  more  than  sand-blind,  high-gravel-blind, 
knows  me  not.  I will  try  confusions  with  him. 

Enter  Old  Gobbo  at  r.,  with  a basket  on  his  arm  and  guiding 
himself  with  a stick . 

Gob.  Master  young  gentleman,  I pray  you  which  is  the 
way  to  master  Jew’s  ? 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


27 


Laun.  Turn  up  on  your  right  hand  at  the  next  turning, 
but  at  the  next,  turning  of  all,  on  your  left ; marry,  at  the 
very  next  turning,  turn  of  no  hand,  but  turn  down  indirectly 
to  the  Jew’s  house. 

Gob.  By  God’s  sonties,  ’twill  be  a hard  way  to  hit.  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  one  Launcelot,  that  dwells  with  him, 
dwells  with  him  or  no  ? 

Laun.  Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot?  (Aside.) 
Mark  me  now ; now  will  I raise  the  waters.  Talk  you  of 
young  master  Launcelot  ? 

Gob.  No  master,  sir,  but  a poor  man’s  son  ; his  father, 
though  I say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding  poor  man,  and,  God 
be  thanked,  well  to  live. 

Laun.  Well,  let  his  father  be  what  a’  will,  we  talk  of 
young  master  Launcelot. 

Gob.  Your  Worship’s  friend,  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

Laun.  But  I pray  you  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I beseech 
you ; talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot. 

Gob.  Of  Launcelot,  an’t  please  your  mastership. 

Laun.  Ergo,  master  Launcelot ; talk  not  of  master  Laun- 
celot, father ; for  the  young  gentleman  (according  to  fates 
and  destinies,  and  such  odd  sayings,  the  sisters  three,  and 
such  branches  of  learning)  is,  indeed  — deceased  ; or,  as  you 
would  say  in  plain  terms,  gone  to  heaven. 

Gob.  Marry,  heaven  forbid  ! the  boy  was  the  very  staff 
of  my  age,  my  very  prop. 

Laun.  (aside).  Do  I look  like  a cudgel  or  a hovel-post,  a 
staff  or  a prop?  (To  Gobbo.)  Do  you  know  me,  father? 

Gob.  Alack  the  day  ! I know  you  not,  young  gentleman  ; 
but,  I pray  you,  tell  me  is  my  boy  (heaven  rest  his  soul !) 
alive  or  dead  ? 

Laun.  Do  you  not  know  me,  father  ? 

Gob.  Alack,  sir,  I am  sand-blind  ! I know  you  not. 

Laun.  Nay,  indeed,  if  you  had  your  eyes  you  might  fail 
of  the  knowing  me ; it  is  a wise  father  that  knows  his  own 
child.  Well,  old  man,  I will  tell  you  news  of  your  son. 
(Gets  slowly  down  on  his  knees  in  front  of  Gobbo,  with  his  hack 
to  him , and  rolling  up  his  eyes.)  Give  me  your  blessing  ; 
truth  will  come  to  light ; murder  cannot  be  hid  long;  a man’s 
son  may,  but  in  the  end  truth  will  out. 

Gob.  Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up  ; I am  sure  you  are  not 
Launcelot,  my  boy. 


28 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Laun.  Pray  you,  let’s  have  no  more  fooling  about  it,  but 
give  me  your  blessing.  I am  Launcelot— your  boy  that  was 
— your  son  that  is  — your  child  that  shall  be. 

Gob.  ( confused  and  half  sobbing  childishly).  I cannot  think 
you  are  my  son. 

Laun.  (with  a comic  start , looking  up  sideways  at  the  old 
man).  I know  what  I shall  think  of  that ; but  I am  Laun- 
celot, the  Jew’s  man ; and  I am  sure  that  Marjory,  your  wife, 
is  my  mother. 

Gob.  Her  name  is  Marjory,  indeed.  I’ll  be  sworn  if 
thou  be  Launcelot  thou  art  mine  own  flesh  and  blood. 
(Launcelot  with  a sigh  takes  off  his  cap  and  the  old  man  falls 
to  f umbling  the  back  of  his  head , thinking  it  is  his  face , to  Laun- 
celot’s  glee  and  the  old  marls  confusion. ) Lord,  worshipped 
might  he  be  1 what  a beard  hast  thou  got ! Thou  hast  more 
hair  on  thy  chin  than  Dobbin,  my  phill-horse,  has  on  his 
tail. 

Laun.  It  would  seem,  then,  that  Dobbin’s  tail  grows 
backward.  ( Turns  aboutl)  I am  sure  he  had  more  hair  of 
his  tail  than  I have  of  my  face  when  I last  saw  him.  (Rising.) 

Gob.  (r.).  Lord  ! how  art  thou  changed  ! How  dost  thou 
and  thy  master  agree?  I have  brought  him  a present. 
(Showing  his  basket.)  How  ’gree  you  now  ? 

Laun.  (l.).  Well,  well ; but  for  mine  own  part,  as  I have 
set  up  my  rest  to  run  away,  so  I will  not  rest  till  I have  run 
some  ground.  My  master’s  a very  Jew.  Give  him  a pres- 
ent ? Give  him  a halter  1 I am  famished  in  his  service  ; 
you  may  tell  every  finger  I have  with  my  ribs.  (Takes 
Gobbo’s  hand  and  rubs  it  up  and  down  his  ribs.)  Father,  I 
am  glad  you  are  come.  Give  me  your  present  to  one  mas- 
ter Bassanio,  who,  indeed,  gives  rare  new  liveries ; if  I serve 
not  him,  I will  run  as  far  as  heaven  has  any  ground.  (Zooks 
off  r.  and  claps  his  hands  to  his  knees.)  Oh,  rare  fortune  ! 
here  comes  the  man!  (Crosses  further  to  l.  with  Gobbo,  as 
Bassanio  enters  at  r.  with  Leonardo  and  a second  servant, 
to  whom  he  is  giving  orders.  They  stop  at  r.  c.  Launcelot 
gets  behind  Gobbo  and  begins  pushing  him  toward  Bassanio. 
The  old  man  holds  back.)  To  him,  father,  for  I am  a Jew  if  I 
serve  the  Jew  any  longer. 

Bass,  (to  servant).  You  may  do  so,  but  let  it  be  hasted, 
that  supper  be  ready  at  the  furthest  by  five  o’clock.  (Gives 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


29 


him  letters.)  See  these  letters  delivered,  put  the  liveries  to 
making,  and  desire  Gratiano  to  come  anon  to  my  lodging. 

Exit  servant  at  R.  i E. 

Laun.  ( pushing  Gobbo  forward).  To  him,  father. 

Gob.  (to  Bassanio).  Heaven  bless  your  Worship. 

Bass,  (turning).  Gramercy  1 would’st  thou  aught  with 
me  ? 

Gob.  (shewing  Launcelot).  Here'is  my  son,  sir ; a poor 
boy  — 

Laun.  (swinging  the  old  man  away  and  taking  his  place , hat 
in  hand).  Not  a poor  boy,  sir,  but  the  rich  Jew’s  man  ; that 
would,  sir  — as  my  father  shall  specify  — (Swings  Old 
Gobbo  in  front  of  him  again  i) 

Gob.  He  hath  a great  infection,  sir,  as  one  would  say,  to 
serve  — 

Laun.  ( repeating  former  action  and  taking  the  front  place 
again  himself).  Indeed,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  I serve 
the  Jew,  and  I have  a desire — as  my  father  shall  specify  — 
(Swings  Gobbo  forward  again.) 

Gob.  His  master  and  he,  saving  your  Worship’s  rever- 
ence, are  scarce  cater-cousins. 

Bass.  ( between  laughter  and  impatience ).  One  speak  for 
both ; what  would  you  ? 

Laun.  (coming forward).  Serve  you,  sir. 

Gob.  This  is  the  very  defect  of  the  matter,  sir. 

Bass.  I know  thee  well ; thou  hast  obtained  thy  suit ; 
Shylock,  thy  master,  spoke  with  me  this  day 
And  hath  preferred  thee,  if  it  be  preferment, 

To  leave  a rich  Jew’s  service  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a gentleman. 

Laun.  The  old  proverb  is  very  well  parted  between  my 
master  Shylock  and  you,  sir ; you  have  the  grace  of  God,  sir, 
and  he  hath  enough. 

Bass.  Thou  speakest  it  wrell.  Go,  father,  with  thy  son  ; 
Take  leave  of  thy  old  master,  and  inquire 
My  lodging  out.  (To  Leonardo.)  Give  him  a livery 
More  guarded  than  his  fellows’.  See  it  done.  (Takes  his 
tablet  and  write  si) 

Laun.  (strutting  and  dragging  his  father  to  l.).  Father,  in. 


3° 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


I cannot  get  a service,  no;  I have  ne’er  a tongue  in  my 
head  ? Well ! (. Stopping  at  l.  and  reading  his  palm , after 
having  carefully  wiped  it.)  Well  — If  any  man  in  Italy 
have  a fairer  table,  which  doth  offer  to  swear  upon  a booh, 
I shall  have  good  fortune.  {Tracing  a li?ie  on  the  palm  of  his 
left  hand  with  the  forefi?iger  of  his  right.)  Go  to,  here’s  a 
simple  line  of  life  ! here’s  a small  trifle  of  wives.  Alas  ! fif- 
teen wives  is  nothing  1 Eleven  widows  and  nine  maids  is  a 
simple  coming-in  for  one  man  ; and  then  to  ’scape  drowning 
thrice,  and  to  be  in  peril  of  my  life  with  the  edge  of  a feather 
bed  — here  are  simple  ’scapes ! Well,  if  fortune  be  a 
woman,  she’s  a good  wench  for  this  gear.  ( Taking  Gobbo 
once  more  by  the  arm.)  Father,  come ; I’ll  take  my  leave  of 
the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. ' 

Exeunt  Launcelot  and  Gobbo  at  l.  into  house. 

Bass.  ( giving  Leonardo  the  paper  he  has  written ).  I pray 
thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this ; 

These  things  being  bought,  and  orderly  bestow’d, 

Return  in  haste,  for  I do  feast  to-night 
My  best-esteem’d  acquaintance  ; hie  thee,  go. 

Lorenzo  mounts  steps  to  cross  the  bridge  and  exits  at  L.  u.  e. 
Bassanio  exits  r.  i e.  On  the  bridge  Leonardo  meets 
Gratiano,  who  enters  at  l.  u.  e. 

Gra.  (at  extreme  l.  as  Leonardo  greets  him).  Where  is 
your  master  ? 

Leonardo  (pointing  off  at  r.).  Yonder,  sir,  he  walks. 

Exit  l.  from  bridge . 

Gra.  (at  centre  of  bridge , calling  off  r.).  Signior  Bassanio  1 
Enter  Bassanio  at  r. 

Bass.  Gratiano  ! (Comes  to  c.) 

Gra.  I have  a s^iit  to  you.  (Comes  down.) 

Bass.  (l.  c.).  You  have  obtain’d  it. 

Gra.  (r.  c.).  You  must  not  deny  me  ; I must  go  with  you 
to  Belmont. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


31 


Bass.  Why,  then,  you  must;  but  hear  thee,  Gratiano  ; 
Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  voice  — 

Parts  that  become  thee  happily  enough, 

And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults. 

But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  there  they  show 
Something  too  liberal ; pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  with  some  cold  drops  of  modesty 
Thy  skipping  spirit,  lest,  through  thy  wild  behavior 
I be  misconstru’d  in  the  place  I go  to, 

And  lose  my  hopes. 

Gra.  Signior  Bassanio,  hear  me. 

If  I do  not  put  on  a sober  habit, 

Talk  with  respect,  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 

Wear  prayer  books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely ; 

.Nay  more,  while  grace  is  saying,  hood  mine  eyes  ( covers  his 
face  with  his  hat ) 

Thus  with  my  hat,  and  sigh  and  say  (crosses  his  hands  on  his 
breast  and  casts  up  his  eyes),  Amen  ; 

Use  all  the  observance  of  civility, 

Like  one  well  studied  in  a sad  ostent 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Bass.  Well,  we  shall  see  your  bearing. 

Gra.  Nay,  but  I bar  to-night ; you  shall  not  gauge  me 
By  what  we  do  to-night. 

Bass.  No,  that  were  pity; 

I would  entreat  you  rather  to  put  on 

Your  boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 

That  purpose  merriment ; but  fare  you  well, 

I have  some  business. 

Gra.  And  I must  to  Lorenzo  and  the  rest ; 

But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time. 

Exeunt,  Bassanio  at  r.  i e.,  and  Gratiano  over  the  bridge 

to  L. 

Enter  Jessica  a?id  Launcelot  from  house  at  l. 

Jessica  (coming  to  c.).  I am  sorry  thou  wilt  leave  my 
father  so ; 

Our  house  is  hell,  and  thou,  a merry  devil, 

Didst  rob  it  of  some  taste  of  tediousness. 


32 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


But  fare  thee  well ; there  is  a ducat  for  thee. 

And,  Launcelot,  soon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Lorenzo,  who  is  thy  new  master’s  guest. 

RING  lights  down  for  change* 

Give  him  this  letter ; do  it  secretly, 

And  so  farewell ; I would  not  have  my  father 
See  me  in  talk  with  thee. 

Laun  . Adieu ! tears  exhibit  my  tongue.  Most  beautiful 
Pagan  — most  sweet  Jew!  If  a Christian  did  not  play  the 
knave  and  get  thee,  I am  much  deceived.  But,  adieu  1 
these  foolish  drops  do  somewhat  drown  my  manly  spirit; 
adieu  1 

Jes.  Farewell,  good  Launcelot. 

Exit  Launcelot  to  r. 

Alack,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me 
To  be  ashamed  to  be  my  father’s  child ! 

But  though  I am  a daughter  to  his  blood, 

I am  not  to  his  manners.  Oh,  Lorenzo, 

If  thou  keep  promise,  I shall  end  this  strife, 

Become  a Christian  and  thy  loving  wife. 

Exit  into  house , l. 

LIGHTS  down* 
CHANGE  set* 

Scene  II.  — Scene  in  one . A narrow  street  in  another  part  of 
Venice.  Perspective  of  narrow  canal  and  bridge  on  drop 
in  first  grooves 

LIGHTS  up* 

Enter  at  once  from  l.  i e.,  Gratiano,  Lorenzo,  Salarino 
and  Salanio. 

Lor.  (l.).  Nav  we  will  slink  away  in  supper-time, 
Disguise  us  at  my  lodging,  and  return 
All  in  an  hour. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


33 


Gra.  (r.).  We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 

Salar.  (r.  c.).  We  have  not  spoke  us  yet  of  torch-bearers. 
Salan.  (l.  c.).  Tis  vile,  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  or- 
der’d, 

And  better,  in  my  mind,  not  undertook. 

Lor.  ’Tis  now  but  four  o’clock  ; we  have  two  hours 
To  furnish  us. 

Enter  Launcelot  at  r.  i e.  with  a letter.  Lorenzo  sees  him 
and  crosses  to  him  at  once. 

Lor.  Friend  Launcelot,  what’s  the  news  ? 

Laun.  ( offering  letter).  An  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up 
this,  it  shall  seem  to  signify. 

Lor.  ( taking  the  letter).  I know  the  hand;  in  faith,  ’tis  a 
fair  hand, 

And  whiter  than  the  paper  that  it  writ  on 
Is  the  fair  hand  that  writ.  ( Goes  r.) 

Laun.  By  your  leave,  sir. 

(Lorenzo  reads  the  letter.) 

Lor.  (to  Launcelot).  Whither  goest  thou  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master  the  Jew  to  sup 
to-night  with  my  new  master  the  Christian.  (. Follows  Lor- 
enzo over  to  r.,  as  if  waitmg  for  a tip.) 

Gra.  (coming  down  c.  and  beckoning  Salanio  and  Salarino 
to  follou'  him;  in  a whisper  to  them).  Love  news,  i*  faith! 

(Gratiano  comes  down  to  l.  of  Launcelot  a?id  behind  him. 
Salanio  comes  down  to  l.  of  Gratiano.  Salarino  re- 
mains up  c.) 

Laun.  (with  a cough).  By  your  leave,  sir. 

Lor.  ( reminded  of  Launcelot,  and  stuffing  letter  in  his  belt). 
Hold  here  ! take  this.  (Gives  him  a coin  or  ring .)  Tell  gen- 
tle Jessica  I will  not  fail  her ; speak  it  privately. 

(Launcelot  bows  to  Lorenzo,  and  in  so  doing  bumps  into 
Gratiano,  who  is  behind  him.  He  backs  around  in  fro?it 
of  him , bowing  humbly  and  in  a wheedlbig  way , as  if  sug- 


34 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


gesting  a tip , which  Gratiano  gives  him.  In  bowing  him- 
self back  to  l.  from  Gratiano  he  bumps  into  Salanio,  with 
whom  he  has  same  business.  Meanwhile  Gratiano  runs 
round  behind  and  stands  back  to  Launcelot  as  he  backs 
away  from  Salanio,  so  that  he  bumps  him  again.  This 
may  be  repeated  ad  libitum,  intro ducmg  also  Salarino 
and  Lorenzo  if  desired , until  Launcelot  begins  to  sus- 
pect the  trick.  Then,  instead  of  bumpi?ig  into  Gratiano, 
who  should  recur  for  this  business,  he  suddenly  turns  upon 
him , thrusts  his  tongue  in  his  cheek , throws  his  cap  on  his 
head  impudently , and  exits  l.  into  house.  All  laugh.) 

Lor.  (r.  c.).  Will  you  prepare  you  for  this  masque 
to-night  ? 

I am  provided  of  a torch-bearer. 

Salar.  Ay,  marry,  M be  gone  about  it  straight. 

Salan.  And  so  will  I. 

Lor.  Meet  me  and  Gratiano 

At  Gratiano’s  lodging  some  hour  hence. 

Salar.  Tis  good  we  do  so. 

Exeunt  Salarino  and  Salanio  at  r. 

RING  lights  down  for  change* 

Gra.  (r.  c.).  Was  not  that  letter  from  fair  Jessica  ? 

Lor.  (l.  c.).  I must  needs  tell  thee  all.  She  hath  directed 
How  I shall  take  her  from  her  father’s  house ; 

What  gold  and  jewels  she  is  furnish’d  with ; 

What  page’s  suit  she  hath  in  readiness. 

If  e’er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven, 

It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter’s  sake ; 

And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot 
Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse. 

That  she  is  issue  to  a faithless  Jew. 

Come,  go  with  me  ; peruse  this  as  thou  goest ; 

Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  torch-bearer. 


Exeunt,  r.  i e. 


LIGHTS  down* 
CHANGE  set* 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


35 


Scene  III. — Same  set  as  Scene  i of  this  Act — night . Dark- 
ness on  bridge  and  a few  lights  o?i  canal.  As  scene  opens , a 
gondola  bearing  four  people  crosses  stage  under  bridge  from 
L.  to  R.,  and  the  sound  of  a mandolin  and  low  murmurs  of 
song . Several  masked  people  with  laughter  cross  the  bridge 
and  go  off  R.  and  L.  A moment's  silence  and  then  the  door 
to  Shylock ’s  house  opens  and  Shylock  enters,  followed 
by  Launcelot. 

LIGHTS  three-quarters  down* 

Shy.  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  shall  be  thy  judge, 
The  difference  of  old  Shylock  and  Bassanio. 

( Turns  toward  house  and  calls.)  What,  Jessica  ! ( To  Laun- 

celot.) Thou  shalt  not  gormandize 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me.  ( Calls  again.)  What,  Jessica ! 
( To  Launcelot.)  And  sleep  and  snore  and  rend  apparel 
out.  ( Calls  again.) 

Why,  Jessica,  I say! 

Laun.  (calling).  Why,  Jessica  ! 

Shy.  Who  bids  thee  call  ? I do  not  bid  thee  call. 

Laun.  Your  worship  was  wont  to  tell  me  I could  do 
nothing  without  bidding. 

Enter  Jessica  from  house . 

Jes.  (at  door).  Call  you?  What  is  your  will?  (Comes 
do7vn.) 

Shy.  (c.).  I am  bid  forth  to  supper,  Jessica. 

There  are  my  keys.  (Gives  keys.)  But  wherefore  should 
I go? 

I am  not  bid  for  love  ; they  flatter  me. 

But  yet  I’ll  go  in  hate,  to  feed  upon 
The  prodigal  Christian.  Jessica,  my  girl, 

Look  to  my  house.  I am  right  loath  to  go ; 

There  is  some  ill  a-brewing  towards  my  rest, 

For  I did  dream  of  money  bags  to-night. 

Laun.  (r.).  I beseech  you,  sir,  go ; my  young  master 
doth  expect  your  reproach. 

Shy.  So  do  I his. 

Laun.  And  they  have  conspired  together.  I will  not 
say  you  shall  see  a masque,  but  if  you  do,  then  it  was  not  for 


36 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


nothing  that  my  nose  fell  a-bleeding  on  Black  Monday  last, 
at  six  o’clock  i’  the  morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash 
Wednesday  was  four  year  in  the  afternoon. 

Shy.  (to  Launcelot).  What!  are  there  masques?  (To 
Jessica.)  Hear  you  me,  Jessica. 

Lock  up  my  doors ; and  when  you  hear  the  drum 
And  the  vile  squealing  of  the  wry-neck’d  fife, 

Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then, 

Nor  thrust  your  head  into  the  public  street 
To  gaze  on  Christian  fools  with  varnish’d  faces, 

But  stop  my  house’s  ears,  I mean  my  casements ; 

Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house.  By  Jacob’s  staff  I swear 
I have  no  mind  of  feasting  forth  to-night ; 

But  I will  go.  (To  Launcelot.)  Go  you  before  me,  sirrah ; 
Say  I will  come.  (Crosses  toward  house . Jessica  comes 
down  r.) 

Laun.  I will  go  before,  sir.  (Launcelot 

crosses  behind  Jessica  and  speaks  over  her  shoulder .) 
Mistress,  look  out  at  window  for  all  this ; 

There  will  come  a Christian  by 
Will  be  worth  a Jewess’  eye. 

Exit  Launcelot  over  bridge  to  l. 

Shy.  What  says  that  fool  of  Hagar’s  offspring,  ha  ? 

Jes.  His  words  were,  Farewell,  mistress  ; nothing  else. 
Shy.  The  patch  is  kind  enough,  but  a huge  feeder. 
Snail-slow  in  profit,  and  he  sleeps  by  day 
More  than  the  wild-cat ; drones  hive  not  with  me ; 

Therefore  I part  with  him ; and  part  with  him 
To  one  that  I would  have  him  help  to  waste 
His  borrow’d  purse.  Well,  Jessica  (puts  his  hand  on  her 
head  as  if  in  blessing) , go  in  ! 

Perhaps  I will  return  immediately  ! 

Do  as  I bid  you.  (Jessica  goes  toward  house.) 

Shut  doors  after  you.  Fast  bind,  fast  find ; 

A proverb  never  stale  in  thrifty  mind. 

Exit  Shylock,  slowly,  over  the  bridge . Jessica  watches  him 
out  of  sight. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


37 


Jes.  Farewell ; and  if  my  fortune  be  not  crost, 

I have  a father,  you  a daughter,  lost. 

Exit  Jessica  into  house , l. 

Enter  Salanio,  Gratiano  and  Salarino  from  l.  on  bridge , 
encountering  on  bridge  a group  of  masks.  A little  parley 
and  laughter , during  which  time  a gondola  passes  under  the 
bridge  from  l.  to  r.,  and  there  are  sounds  of  music.  When 
that  dies  away  the  th?*ee  men  are  left  alone , laughing,  on  the 
bridge .) 

Gra.  ( pointing  to  Shylock’s  house).  This  is  the  pent- 
house under  which  Lorenzo 
Desir’d  us  to  make  stand. 

Salar.  His  hour  is  almost  past. 

Gra.  And  it  is  marvel  he  out-dwells  his  hour, 

For  lovers  ever  run  before  the  clock. 

Salar.  Oh,  ten  times  faster  Venus’  pigeons  fly 
To  seal  love’s  bonds  new  made  than  they  are  wont 
To  keep  obliged  faith  unforfeited ! 

Gra.  That  ever  holds.  Who  riseth  from  a feast 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down  ? 

Where  is  the  horse  that  doth  untread  again 
His  tedious  measures  with  the  unbated  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first  ? All  things  that  are 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy’d. 

( They  descend  from  the  bridge.  As  they  turn  toward  the  house , 
Lorenzo  enters  in  gondola.  As  he  steps  ashore  he  looks 
toward  the  window  a moment.  A light  appears  in  window 
over  door.) 

Salan.  Here  comes  Lorenzo. 

Lor.  (in  a whisper).  Sweet  friends,  your  patience  for  my 
long  abode ; 

Not  I but  my  affairs  have  made  you  wait. 

When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for  wives, 

I’ll  watch  as  long  for  you,  then.  Approach ; 

(They  all  approach  the  house , Gratiano,  Salarino  and  Sala- 
nio keeping  in  the  shade.  Sounds  of  song  heard  off  at  r.) 


38  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 

Here  dwells  my  father  Jew.  ( Claps  his  hands  three  times  and 
then  speaks  softly .)  Ho  ! Who’s  within  ? 

( The  window  opens , and  Jessica  in  boy's  dress  enters  on  the 

balco7iyl) 

Jes.  ( leaning  over  the  balco?iy).  Who  are  you?  Tell  me, 
for  more  certainty, 

Albeit  I’ll  swear  that  I do  know  your  tongue. 

Lor.  Lorenzo  and  thy  love. 

Jes.  Lorenzo,  certain  ; and  my  love,  indeed  ; 

For  who  love  I so  much  ? And  now  who  knows 
But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I am  yours  ? 

Lor.  Heaven  and  thy  thoughts  are  witness  that  thou  art. 
Jes.  Here,  catch  this  casket.  (Throws  casket , which 
Lorenzo  catches  and  passes  to  Gratia  no.)  It  is  worth 
the  pains. 

I am  glad  ’tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me, 

For  I am  much  asham’d  of  my  exchange ; 

But  love  is  blind  and  lovers  cannot  see 
The  pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit ; 

For  if  they  could,  Cupid  himself  would  blush 
To  see  me  thus  transformed  to  a boy. 

Lor.  Descend,  for  you  must  be  my  torch-bearer. 

Jes.  What,  must  I hold  a candle  to  my  shames? 

They  in  themselves,  good  sooth,  are  too,  too  light. 

Why,  ’tis  an  office  of  discovery,  love  ; 

And  I should  be  obscur’d. 

Lor.  So  are  you,  sweet, 

Even  in  the  lovely  garnish  of  a boy. 

But  come  at  once ; 

For  the  close  night  doth  play  the  runaway, 

And  we  are  staid  for  at  Bassanio’s  feast. 

Jes.  I will  make  fast  the  doors,  and  gild  myself 
With  some  more  ducats,  and  be  with  you  straight. 

Exits  from  balcony , closing  window  ; light  disappears . 

WARN  curtain, 

Gra.  Now,  by  my  hood,  a Gentile  and  no  Jew. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


39 


Lor.  Beshrew  me,  but  I love  her  heartily, 

For  she  is  wise,  if  I can  judge  of  her ; 

And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true ; 

And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself ; 

And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair  and  true, 

Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

MUSIC  off* 

{Music,  during  which  a band  of  masks  cross  the  bridge . Just 
before  the  end  the  door  opens  and  Jessica  appears . Lor- 
enzo goes  to  meet  her  at  door.) 

What,  art  thou  come  ? (Throws  his  mantle  about  her.)  On, 
gentlemen  — away  ! 

Our  masking  mates  by  this  time  for  us  stay. 

RING  curtain* 

{They  all  go  up  steps  and  over  the  bridge  amidst  another  burst 
of  song , as  another  gondola  passes  under  the  bridge .) 

CURTAIN. 

Note. — In  Henry  Irving’s  version , when  the  curtain  was 
called  on  this  picture , it  showed  Shylock,  la?itern  in  hand , 
returning  to  his  deserted  house.  He  crossed  the  bridge , de- 
scended the  steps , crossed  to  his  door  and,  at  first  confidently, 
then  ?iervously,  rapped  with  the  k?tocker  as  the  curtain  fell . 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.  — The  set  represents  a magnificent  hall  in  the  house  of 
Portia,  at  Belmont.  The  back  of  the  roo?n  is  composed 
of  a row  of  colored  columns  through  which  one  sees  the  ter- 
raced garden  with  trees , flowers  arid fountains.  At  l.  is  a 
sort  of  alcove , raised  by  three  broad,  shallow  steps.  This 
alcove,  ope7iing  to  the  audience  obliquely,  is  magnificently 
draped,  and  within  stands  a sort  of  altar  on  which  are 
placed  three  caskets  which  hold  Portia’s  fate . When 


40 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


scene  opens  curtains  conceal  it.  About  the  room  are  statues 
and  rich  furniture.  As  the  curiam  rises  a procession 
enters  from  l.  u.  e.,  consisting  of  the  followers  of  the 
Prince  of  Morocco  and  the  household  of  Portia,  who 
is  led  in  by  the  Prince  himself.  Portia  is  followed 
closely  by  Nerissa  and  a group  of  Pages. 

LIGHTS  full  up* 

Morocco  (at  c.,  addressing  Portia).  Mislike  me  not  for 
my  complexion, 

The  shadow’d  livery  of  the  burnish’d  sun, 

To  whom  I am  a neighbor  and  near  bred. 

Bring  me  the  fairest  creature  northward  born, 

Where  Phoebus’  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles, 

And  let  us  make  incision  for  your  love, 

To  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  his  or  mine. 

Por.  In  terms  of  choice  I am  not  solely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a maiden’s  eyes ; 

Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  the  right  of  voluntary  choosing. 

But  if  my  father  had  not  scanted  me, 

And  hedg’d  me  by  his  wit  to  yield  myself 
His  wife  who  wins  me  by  that  means  I told  you, 

Yourself,  renowned  Prince,  then  stood  as  fair 
As  any  comer  I have  looked  on  yet 
For  my  affection. 

Mor.  Even  for  that  I thank  you ; 

Therefore,  I pray  you,  lead  me  to  the  caskets 
To  try  my  fortune. 

Por.  (to  her  Pages).  Draw  aside  the  curtains,  and  dis- 
cover 

The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  Prince. 

(The  Pages  draw  back  the  curtain.  Then  Attendants  group 
themselves  as  if  interested.  To  Morocco.) 

Now  make  your  choice. 

Mor.  (bowing  low  over  Portia’s  hand,  turns  toward  the  cas- 
kets and  slowly  mounts  the  steps  to  examme  them . Takes 
up  first ).  The  first,  of  gold,  who  this  inscription  bears: 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


41 


“ Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire.” 
( Puts  it  down.) 

(Takes  up  second.)  The  second,  silver,  which  this  promise 
carries : 

“ Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves.” 
(Pauses , then  puts  it  down.) 

(Takes  up  third.)  This  third,  dull  lead,  with  warning  all  as 
blunt : 

“ Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath.” 

(do  Portia,  who  has  seated  herself  at  c.)  How  shall  I know 
if  I do  choose  the  right  ? ¥ 

Por.  (yvho  steadfastly , with  an  attempt  at  unconcern , has 
watched  each  movement  as  if  afraid  to  breathe  and  by  that 
breath  give  him  the  proper  cue).  The  one  of  them  con- 
tains my  picture,  Prince ; 

If  you  choose  that,  then  I am  yours  withal. 

Mor.  ( turning  back  to  caskets , still  holding  the  leaden  one  in 
his  hands).  Some  god  direct  my  judgment!  Let  me 
see, 

I will  survey  th’  inscriptions  back  again. 

What  says  this  leaden  casket  ? (Reads .) 

“ Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath.” 
( Ponders.) 

Must  give  — for  what  ? For  lead  ? Hazard  for  lead  ? 

This  casket  threatens.  Men  that  hazard  all 
Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages ; 

A golden  mind  stoops  not  to  shows  of  dross ; 

PH  then  nor  give  nor  hazard  aught  for  lead.  (Puls  down 
leaden  casket.) 

What  says  the  silver,  with  her  virgin  hue  ? (Takes  up  silver 
casket.  Reads.) 

“ Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves.”  (Re- 
fects.) 

As  much  as  he  deserves  ? Pause  there,  Morocco, 

And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand. 

If  thou  be’st  rated  by  thy  estimation, 

Thou  dost  deserve  enough  ; and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  so  far  as  to  the  lady. 

As  much  as  I deserve  1 Why,  that’s  the  lady„ 

I do  in  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes, 

In  graces  and  in  qualities  of  breeding ; 


42 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


But  more  than  these,  in  love  I do  deserve. 

What  if  I stray’d  no  further,  but  chose  here  ? 

Let’s  see  once  more  this  saying  grav’d  in  gold.  ( Puts  down 
silver  and  takes  up  golden  casket . Heads.) 

“ Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire.” 

Why,  that’s  the  lady ; all  the  world  desires  her. 

From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathing  saint. 

One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 

Is’t  like  that  lead  contains  her  ? ’Twere  damnation 
To  think  so  base  a thought ; it  were  too  gross 
To  rib  her  cerecloth  in  the  obscure  grave. 

Or  shall  I think  in  silver  she’s  immur’d, 

Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  try’d  gold  ? 

Oh,  sinful  thought ! Never  so  rich  a gem 
Was  set  in  worse  than  gold. 

Deliver  me  the  key ; 

Here  do  I choose,  and  thrive  I as  I may  ! 

Por.  (with  a sigh  of  relief  \ which  she  strives  to  conceal , takes 
a key  from  her  girdle  and  gives  it  to  a Page,  who  delivers 
it  ceremoniously  to  Morocco).  There,  take  it,  Prince, 
and  if  my  form  lie  there 
Then  I am  yours. 

(He  unlocks  the  golden  casket.) 

Mor.  Oh,  hell  ! what  have  we  here  ! 

A carrion  death,  within  whose  empty  eye 

There  is  a written  scroll.  I’ll  read  the  writing.  (Heads.) 

“ All  that  glitters  is  not  gold, 

Often  have  you  heard  that  told. 

Many  a man  his  life  hath  sold 
But  my  outside  to  behold. 

Gilded  tombs  do  worms  enfold : 

Had  you  been  as  wise  as  bold, 

Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old, 

Your  answer  had  not  been  inscroll’d. 

Fare  you  well ; your  suit  is  cold.” 


RING  lights  down  for  change* 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


43 


Cold,  indeed  ; and  labor  lost. 

Then,  farewell  heat  and  welcome  frost. 

{Descending  steps . Portia  rises  as  he  approaches .)  Portia, 

adieu  1 I have  too  griev’d  a heart 
To  take  a tedious  leave  ; thus  losers  part.  ( With  a low  bow 
the  Prince  withdraws,  followed  by  his  suite , up  r.) 

Por.  (who  watches  him  well  out  of  sight ; gaily).  A gentle 
riddance.  Draw  the  curtains,  go.  (Pages  draw  cur- 
tains and  go  off  l.) 

(To  Nerissa,  as  she  throws  an  arm  about  her.)  Let  all  of  his 
complexion  choose  me  so. 

Exit  gaily  down  l.  with  Nerissa. 

LIGHTS  down* 
CHANGE  set* 

Scene  II. — A narrow  street  in  Venice.  Same  drop  as  that 
used  for  Scene  2 of  Act  II. 

Enter  Salarino  and  Salanio  in  conversation , from  r. 

LIGHTS  full  up. 

Salar.  Why,  man,  I saw  Bassanio  under  sail ; 

With  him  is  Gratiano  gone  along, 

And  in  their  ship,  I am  sure,  Lorenzo  is  not. 

Salan.  The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  rais’d  the  Duke, 
Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio’ s ship. 

Salar.  He  came  too  late  — the  ship  was  under  sail ; 

But  there  the  Duke  was  given  to  understand 
That  in  a gondola  were  seen  together 
Lorenzo  and  his  amorous  Jessica. 

Besides,  Antonio  certify’ d the  Duke 
They  were  not  with  Bassanio  in  his  ship. 

Salan.  I never  heard  a passion  so  confus’d, 

So  strange,  outrageous  and  so  variable 

As  the  dog  Jew  did  utter  in  the  streets  : (Imitating  Shylock.) 
“ My  daughter  ! Oh,  my  ducats  ! Oh,  my  daughter  ! 

Fled  with  a Christian  ? Oh,  my  Christian  ducats  ! 


44 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Justice ! the  law  ! my  ducats  and  my  daughter  ! ” 

Let  good  Antonio  look  he  keep  his  day, 

Or  he  shall  pay  for  this. 

Salar.  Marry,  well  remember’d. 

I reason’d  with  a Frenchman  yesterday,  who  told  me  that 
Antonio  hath  a ship  of  rich  lading  wrack’d  on  the  narrow 
seas,  the  Goodwins,  I think  they  call  the  place  — a very 
dangerous  flat  and  fatal,  where  the  carcasses  of  many  a tall 
ship  lie  buried,  as  they  say,  if  my  gossip  report  be  an  honest 
woman  of  her  word. 

Salan.  I would  she  were  as  lying  a gossip  in  that  as 
ever  knapp’d  ginger  or  made  her  neighbors  believe  she  wept 
for  the  death  of  a third  husband.  But  it  is  true,  without 
any  slips  of  prolixity  or  crossing  the  plain  highway  of  talk, 
that  the  good  Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio  — oh,  that  I had 
a title  good  enough  to  keep  his  name  company  I 

Salar.  Come,  the  full  stop. 

Salan.  Ha?  what  say’st  thou?  Why,  the  end  is  he 
hath  lost  a ship. 

Salar.  I would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his  losses ! 

Salan.  Let  me  say  Amen  betimes,  lest  the  devil  cross 
my  prayer ; for  here  he  comes  in  the  likeness  of  a Jew. 

Enter  Shylock,  r.,  in  a state  of  intense  exciteme?it.  Salanio 
and  Salarino  pass  to  l. 

How  now,  Shylock  ? What  news  among  the  merchants  ? 

Shy.  (at  c.).  You  knew  — none  so  well,  none  so  well  as 
you  — of  my  daughter’s  flight. 

Salar.  ( railmg ).  That’s  certain;  I,  for  my  part,  knew 
the  tailor  that  made  the  wings  she  flew  withal. 

Salan.  And  Shylock,  for  his  own  part,  knew  the  bird 
was  fledg’d;  and  then  it  is  the  complexion  of  them  all  to 
leave  the  dam. 

Shy.  She  is  damn’d  for  it. 

Salar.  'That’s  certain,  if  the  devil  may  be  her  judge. 

Shy.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  to  rebel ! 

Salar.  Tell  us,  do  you  hear  whether  Antonio  have  had 
any  loss  at  sea  or  no  ? 

Shy.  There  I have  another  bad  match ; a bankrupt,  a 
prodigal,  who  dare  scarce  show  his  head  on  the  Rialto ; a 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


45 


beggar,  that  used  to  come  so  smug  upon  the  mart.  Let  him 
look  to  his  bond.  He  was  wont  to  call  me  usurer  ; let  him 
look  to  his  bond.  He  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  a Chris- 
tian courtesy  ; let  him  look  to  his  bond. 

Salar.  Why,  I am  sure  if  he  forfeit  thou  wilt  not  take 
his  flesh.  What’s  that  good  for  ? 

Sky.  To  bait  fish  withal ; if  it  will  feed  nothing  else  it 
will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgraced  me  and  hindered 
me  half  a million  ; laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my 
gains,  scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my 
friends,  heated  mine  enemies  ; and  what’s  his  reason  ? I am 
a Jew.  Hath  not  a Jew  eyes  ? Hath  not  a Jew  hands, 
organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  ? fed  with 
the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject  to  the 
same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed  and 
cooled  by  the  same  summer  and  winter,  as  a Christian  is  ? 
If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ? If  you  tickle  us,  do  we 
not  laugh  ? If  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ? And  if  you 
wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge  ? If  we  are  like  you  in  the 
rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a Jew  wrong  a Chris- 
tian, what  is  his  humility  ? Revenge  ! If  a Christian  wrong 
a Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance  be  by  Christian  example  ? 
Why,  revenge ! The  villainy  you  teach  me  I will  execute ; 
and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I will  better  the  instruction. 

Salan.  Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe ; a third  cannot 
be  matched,  unless  the  devil  himself  turn  Jew. 

Exeunt  Salanio  and  Salarino  at  l. 

Enter  Tubal  at  r.  Shylock  goes  to  meet  him  and  comes  to  c. 
with  him . 

Shy.  How  now,  Tubal?  what  news  from  Genoa?  Hast 
thou  found  my  daughter  ? 

Tubal.  I often  came  where  I did  hear  of  her,  but  cannot 
find  her. 

Shy.  ( sobbing  between  rage  and  grie/).  Why,  there,  there, 
there,  there  ! A diamond  gone,  cost  me  two  thousand  ducats 
in  Frankfort ! The  curse  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now  ; 
I never  felt  it  till  now.  Two  thousand  ducats  in  that ; and 
other  precious,  precious  jewels.  I would  my  daughter  were 


46 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


dead  at  my  foot  and  the  jewels  in  her  ear  ! Would  she  were 
hears’d  at  my  foot  and  the  ducats  in  her  coffin  1 No  news 
of  them  ? Why  so  — and  I know  not  what’s  spent  in  the 
search.  Why,  thou  — loss  upon  loss  ! The  thief  gone  with 
so  much,  and  so  much  to  find  the  thief ; and  no  satisfaction, 
no  revenge  ; nor  no  ill  luck  stirring  but  what  lights  o’  my 
shoulders ; no  sighs  but  o’  my  breathing ; no  tears  but  o’  my 
shedding. 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too;  Antonio,  as  I 
heard  in  Genoa  — 

Shy.  (eagerly).  What,  what,  what?  Ill  luck,  ill  luck  ? 

Tub.  — hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from  Tripolis. 

Shy.  (raising  his  clenched  hands  to  Heaven).  I thank  God, 
I thank  God  ! (To  Tubal.)  Is  it  true,  is  it  true  ? 

Tub.  I spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  escaped  the 
wrack. 

Shy.  (with  hands  on  Tubal’s  shoulders').  I thank  thee, 
good  Tubal!  Good  news,  good  news.  Ha!  ha!  Where? 
In  Genoa  ? 

Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I heard,  one 
night,  fourscore  ducats. 

Shy.  (changing  to  rage).  Thou  stick’st  a dagger  in  me  ! I 
shall  never  see  my  gold  again.  Fourscore  ducats  at  a sit- 
ting ! Fourscore  ducats  I 

Tub.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio’s  creditors  in  my 
company  in  Venice  that  swear  he  cannot  choose  but  break. 

Shy.  (in  wicked  glee).  I am  very  glad  of  it;  I’ll  plague 
him ; I’ll  torture  him  ; I am  glad  of  it. 

Tub.  One  of  them  showed  me  a ring  that  he  had  of  your 
daughter  for  a monkey. 

Shy.  (sobbing  hi  rage).  Out  upon  her!  Thou  torturest 
me,  Tubal.  It  was  my  turquoise ; I had  it  of  Leah  when  I 
was  a bachelor.  I would  not  have  given  it  for  a wilderness 
of  monkeys. 

Tub.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

RING  lights  down  for  change* 

Shy.  ( with  glee).  Nay,  that’s  true,  that’s  very  true.  Go, 
Tubal,  fee  me  an  officer,  bespeak  him  a fortnight  before.  I 
will  have  the  heart  of  him  if  he  forfeit ; for  were  he  out  of 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE , 


47 


Venice  I can  make  what  merchandise  I will.  Go,  go,  Tubal, 
and  meet  me  at  our  synagogue ; go,  good  Tubal ; at  our 
synagogue,  Tubal. 

Exeunt,  Tubal  at  r.,  and  Shylock,  in  great  excitement , at  l. 

LIGHTS  down, 
CHANGE  set. 

Scene  III.  — Same  set  as  Scene  i of  this  Act , The  stage  is 
crowded  with  the  followers  of  Portia  and  Bassanio  and 
his  friends , The  curtain  before  the  caskets  is  already 
raised,  Portia  is  at  c.  Bassanio  stands  in  front  of  her. 
At  r.  are  Gratiano  and  Nerissa,  in  conversation  half 
serious  half  jocose, 

LIGHTS  full  up 

Bass,  (to  Portia).  I am  enjoined  by  oath  to  observe 
three  things : 

First,  never  to  unfold  to  anyone 
Which  casket  ’twas  I chose ; next,  if  I fail 
Of  the  right  casket,  never  in  my  life 
To  woo  a maid  in  way  of  marriage ; lastly, 

If  I do  fail  in  fortune  of  my  choice, 

Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 

Por.  To  these  injunctions  everyone  doth  swear 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 

Bass.  And  so  have  I addressed  me.  Fortune  now 
To  my  heart’s  hope  ! 

Por.  I pray  you,  tarry ; pause  a day  or  two 
Before  you  hazard  ; for  in  choosing  wrong 
I lose  your  company ; therefore  forbear  a while. 

There’s  something  tells  me  (but  it  is  not  love) 

I would  not  lose  you  ; and  you  know  yourself 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a quality ; 

But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well 
(And  yet  a maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought), 

I would  detain  you  here  some  month  or  two 
Before  you  venture  for  me.  I could  teach  you 
How  to  choose  right,  but  then  I am  forsworn ; 


48 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


So  will  I never  be  ; so  may  you  miss  me  ; 

But  if  you  do,  you'll  make  me  wish  a sin, 

That  I had  been  forsworn.  Beshrew  your  eyes, 

They  have  overlooked  me  and  divided  me ; 

One-half  of  me  is  yours,  the  other  half  yours  — 

Mine  own,  I would  say  ; but  if  mine,  then  yours, 

And  so  all  yours. 

I speak  too  long ; but  ’tis  to  peize  the  time  * 

To  eke  it,  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length, 

To  stay  you  from  election. 

Bass.  Let  me  choose  ; 

For  as  I am  I live  upon  the  rack ; 

( A ll  move  away.)  So  let  me  to  my  fortune  and  the  caskets. 

Por.  Away  then.  I am  locked  in  one  of  them  ; 

If  you  do  love  me  you  will  find  me  out.  (Bassanio  goes  to  l. 

Portia  tur?is  toward  Nerissa.) 

Nerissa  and  the  rest,  stand  all  aloof. 

(To  a Page.)  Let  music  sound  while  he  doth  make  his 
choice.  (Page  goes  off  back.  Music.) 

Then,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a swan-like  end, 

Fading  in  music.  That  the  comparison 

May  stand  more  proper,  my  eye  shall  be  the  stream 

And  wat’ry  death-bed  for  him. 

(Bassanio  mounts  steps  to  caskets  and  examines  them.) 

(. A Song,  whilst  Bassanio  comme?its  071  the  caskets  to  himself l) 

Tell  me,  where  is  fancy  bred, 

Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head  ? 

How  begot,  how  nourished  ? 

Reply,  reply. 

It  is  engender’d  in  the  eyes, 

With  gazing  fed  ; and  fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies. 

Let  us  all  ring  fancy’s  knell ; 

I’ll  begin  it  — Ding,  dong,  bell. 

All.  Ding,  dong,  bell. 

Bass.  So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  themselves ; 
The  world  is  still  deceiv’d  with  ornament. 

In  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE, 


49 


But,  being  season’d  with  a gracious  voice, 

Obscures  the  show  of  evil  ? In  religion, 

What  damned  error  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it  and  approve  it  with  a text, 

Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament  ? 

Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiled  shore 

To  a most  dangerous  sea ; the  beauteous  scarf 

Veiling  an  Indian  beauty  ; in  a word, 

The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 
To  entrap  the  wisest.  Therefore,  thou  gaudy  gold, 

Hard  food  for  Midas,  I will  none  of  thee. 

(Portia  covers  her*face  with  her  hands.) 

Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  stale  and  common  drudge 
’Tween  man  and  man;  but  thou,  thou  meagre  lead, 

Which  rather  threat’nest  than  dost  promise  aught, 

Thy  paleness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence. 

And  here  choose  I ; joy  be  the  consequence  ! 

Por.  ( rising  erect).  How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air, 
As  doubtful  thoughts  and  rash  embrac’d  despair, 

And  shudd’ring  fear  and  green-ey’d  jealousy ! 

Ch,  love ! (pressing  both  hands  over  her  heart)  be  moder- 
ate, allay  thy  ecstasy, 

In  measure  rein  thy  joy,  scant  this  excess ; 

I feel  too  much  thy  blessing,  make  it  less, 

For  fear  I surfeit ! (Gives  key  to  Page,  who  takes  it  to  Bass  a- 
nio.) 

Bass,  (opening  casket).  What  find  I here  ? 

Fair  Portia’s  counterfeit ! Here  is  the  scroll, 

The  continent  and  summary  of  my  fortune.  (Heads.) 

“ You  that  choose  not  by  the  view, 

Chance  as  fair  and  choose  as  true  1 
Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 

Be  content  and  seek  no  new. 

If  you  be  well  pleased  with  this, 

And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss, 

Turn  you  where  your  lady  is 
And  ckaim  her  with  a loving  kiss.” 

A gentle  scroll.  (Descends  steps  and  crosses  quickly  to  Portia.) 
Fair  lady,  by  your  leave 


5° 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


I come  by  note  to  give  and  to  receive, 

As  doubtful  whether  what  I see  be  true, 

Until  confirm’d,  sign’d,  ratified  by  you.  {Kisses  her.) 

Por.  {moving  away  from  him  after  a momenfs  pause  to  re- 
cover herself ).  You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio,  where  I 
stand, 

Such  as  I am ; though  for  myself  alone 
I would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 

To  wish  myself  much  better ; yet  for  you 
I would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself ; 

A thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times  more  rich ; 
That  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 

I might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 

Exceed  account.  But  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  something ; which,  to  term  in  gross, 

Is  an  unlesson’d  girl,  unschool’d,  unpractis’d : 

Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn ; happier  than  this, 

She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 

Happiest  of  all  is  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 

As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 

Myself  and  what  is  mine  to  you  and  yours 
Is  now  converted ; but  now  I was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants, 

Queen  o’er  myself ; and  even  now,  but  now, 

This  house,  these  servants  and  this  same  myself 
Are  yours,  my  lord ; I give  them  with  this  ring  {takes  ring 
from  her  finger)  ; 

Which  when  you  part  from,  lose  or  give  away, 

Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 

And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you.  {Places  it  on  his. 
hand.) 

Bass.  Madam,  you  have  bereft  me  of  all  words  ; 

Only  my  blood  speaks  to  you  in  my  veins. 

But  when  this  ring 

Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence ; 

Oh,  then  be  bold  to  say,  Bassanio’s  dead. 

Ner.  {who,  during  the  scene  between  Portia  and  Bassanio, 
has  been  following  it  with  Gratiano  in  a sort  of pantomime 
imitation  of  the  same , giving  to  Gratiano  a ring  as  Por- 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


51 

tia  has  given  to  Bassanio,  now  steps  forward  to  l.  c.,  with 
Gratiano  a few  paces  behind  her).  My  lord  and  lady,  it 
is  now  our  time, 

That  have  stood  by  and  seen  our  wishes  prosper, 

To  cry  good  joy ; good  joy,  my  lord  and  lady ! 

Gra.  (r.).  My  lord  Bassanio  and  my  gentle  lady, 

I wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish ; 

For  I am  sure  you  can  wish  none  from  me. 

And  when  your  honors  mean  to  solemnize 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  I do  beseech  you, 

Even  at  that  time  I may  be  married  too. 

Bass.  (l.  c.).  With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  canst  get  a wife. 
Gra.  I thank  your  lordship  ; you  have  got  me  one. 

My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours : 

You  saw  the  mistress,  I beheld  the  maid.  ( Giving  his  hand 
to  Nerissa.) 

You  lov’d,  I lov’d  ; for  intermission 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 

Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  caskets  there; 

And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls ; 

For  wooing  here  until  I sweat  again ; 

And  swearing  till  my  very  roof  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love,  at  last  — if  promise  last  — 

I got  a promise  of  this  fair  one  here 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achiev'd  her  mistress. 

Por.  Is  this  true,  Nerissa? 

Ner.  Madam,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleas’d  withal. 

Bass.  And  do  you,  Gratiano,  mean  good  faith  ? 

Gra.  Yes,  ’faith,  my  lord. 

Bass,  Our  feast  shall  be  much  honor’d  in  your  marriage. 
Gra.  ( looking  off,  up  l.).  But  who  comes  here  ? Lorenzo 
and  his  infidel  ? 

What,  and  my  old  Venetian  friend,  Salanio? 

Enter  Salanio,  followed  by  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  from  l. 
back  over  terrace . 

Bass.  ( going  uf).  Lorenzo  and  Salanio,  welcome  hither ! 
If  that  the  youth  of  my  new  interest  here 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome.  (Zb  Portia.)  By  your 

leave, 


S2 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


I bid  my  very  friends  and  countrymen, 

Sweet  Portia,  welcome.  (Coming  down  ; Jessica  remains  up  l.) 

Por.  (c.).  So  do  I,  my  lord. 

They  are  entirely  welcome. 

Lor.  (l.).  I thank  your  honor.  For  my  part,  my  lord, 
My  purpose  was  not  to  have  seen  you  here ; 

But  meeting  with  Salanio  by  the  way, 

He  did  entreat  me  past  all  saying  nay 
To  come  with  him  along. 

Salan.  (l.  c.).  I did,  my  lord, 

And  I have  reason  for  it.  Signior  Antonio 
Commends  him  to  you.  ( Gives  Bassanio  a letter.) 

Bass,  (to  Salanio).  Ere  I ope  his  letter, 

I pray  you  tell  me  how  my  good  friend  doth. 

Salan.  Not  sick,  my  lord,  unless  it  be  in  mind ; 

Nor  well,  unless  in  mind  ; his  letter  there 
Will  show  you  his  estate. 

(Bassanio  goes  r.  and  opens  letter.) 

Gra.  (r.).  Nerissa,  cheer  yon  stranger  ; bid  her  welcome. 

(Nerissa  joi?is  Jessica  ; Gratiano  crosses  to  Salanio.) 

Your  hand,  Salanio ; what’s  the  news  from  Venice  ? 

How  doth  that  royal  merchant,  good  Antonio  ? 

I know  he  will  be  glad  of  our  success  ; 

We  are  the  Jasons,  we  have  won  the  fleece. 

Salan.  ’Would  you  had  won  the  fleece  that  he  hath  lost ! 
Por.  (watching  Bassanio’s  emotion  as  he  reads  letter ).  There 
are  some  shrewd  contents  in  yon’  same  paper 
That  steal  the  color  from  Bassanio’s  cheek. 

Some  dear  friend  dead,  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 

Of  any  constant  man.  What,  worse  and  worse  ? (Approaches 
Bassanio  a?id places  her  hand  on  his  shoulder i) 

With  leave,  Bassanio ; I am  half  yourself, 

And  I must  freely  have  the  half  of  anything 
That  this  same  paper  brings  you. 

Bass.  Oh,  sweet  Portia, 

Here  are  a few  of  the  unpleasant’st  words 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


S3 


That  ever  blotted  paper  ! Gentle  lady, 

When  I did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 

I freely  told  you  all  the  wealth  I had 
Ran  in  my  veins  — I was  a gentleman  ; 

And  then  I told  you  true.  And  yet,  dear  lady, 

Rating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  much  I was  a braggart.  When  I told  you 
My  state  was  nothing,  I should  then  have  told  you 
That  I was  worse  than  nothing ; for,  indeed, 

I have  engag’d  myself  to  a dear  friend, 

Engag’d  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy, 

To  feed  my  means.  Here  is  a letter,  lady, 

The  paper  as  the  body  of  my  friend, 

And  every  word  in  it  a gaping  wound 

Issuing  life-blood.  ( Turning  to  Salanio.  Returning  to  c. 

with  Portia.)  But  is  it  true,  Salanio  ? 

Have  all  his  ventures  fail’d  ? (Salanio  nods  affirmation .) 
What,  not  one  hit  ? 

From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico  and  England, 

From  Lisbon,  Barbary  and  India? 

And  not  one  vessel  ’scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  ? 

Salan.  (l.).  Not  one,  my  lord. 

Besides,  it  should  appear  that  if  he  had 
The  present  money  to  discharge  the  Jew, 

He  would  not  take  it.  Never  did  I know 
A creature  that  did  bear  the  shape  of  man 
So  keen  and  greedy  to  confound  a man. 

He  plies  the  Duke  at  morning  and  at  night, 

And  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  the  state, 

If  they  deny  him  justice ; twenty  merchants, 

The  Duke  himself  and  the  magnificoes 
Of  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him, 

But  none  can  drive  him  from  the  envious  plea 
Of  forfeiture,  of  justice  and  his  bond. 

Jes.  ( coming  doivn  r.  with  Nerissa).  When  I was  with 
him,  I have  heard  him  swear 
To  Tubal  and  to  Chus,  his  countrymen, 

That  he  would  rather  have  Antonio’s  flesh 
Than  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him  ; and  I know,  my  lord, 


54 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


If  law,  authority  and  power  deny  not, 

It  will  go  hard  with  poor  Antonio. 

Por.  (c.).  Is  it  your  dear  friend  that  is  thus  in  trouble? 
Bass.  (l.  c.).  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  best  condition’d  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies  ; and  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honor  more  appears 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy. 

Por.  What  sum  owes  he  the  Jew  ? 

Bass.  For  me,  three  thousand  ducats. 

Por.  What,  no  more? 

Pay  him  six  thousand  and  deface  the  bond ; 

Double  six  thousand  and  then  treble  that, 

Before  a friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a hair  through  Bassanio’s  fault. 

First  go  with  me  to  church  and  call  me  wife, 

And  then  away  to  Venice  to  your  friend  ; 

For  never  shall  you  stay  by  Portia’s  side 
With  an  unquiet  soul.  You  shall  have  gold 
To  pay  the  petty  debt  twenty  times  over ; 

When  it  is  paid,  bring  your  true  friend  along. 

My  maid  Nerissa  and  myself  meantime 
Will  live  as  maids  and  widows.  Come,  away ! 

For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  wedding-day. 

Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a merry  cheer ; 

Since  you  are  dear  bought  I will  love  you  dear. 

But  let  me  hear  the  letter  of  your  friend. 

RING  lights  down  for  change* 

Bass,  (reads).  “ Sweet  Bassanio,  my  ships  have  all  mis- 
carried, my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate  is  very  low,  my 
bond  to  the  Jew  is  forfeit ; and  since  in  paying  it  it  is  impos- 
sible I should  live,  all  debts  are  cleared  between  you  and  I, 
if  I might  but  see  you  at  my  death.  Notwithstanding,  use 
your  pleasure  ; if  your  love  do  not  persuade  you  to  come,  let 
not  my  letter.” 

Por.  Oh,  love  ! Despatch  all  business  and  be  gone  ! 
Bass.  Since  I have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 

I will  make  haste ; but  till  I come  again 
No  bed  shall  e’er  be  guilty  of  my  stay, 

Nor  rest  be  interposer  ’twixt  us  twain. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


55 


Exeunt  Portia  and  Bassanio  up  r.,  followed  by  Gratiano 
and  Nerissa,  leading  Salanio,  Lorenzo  and  Jessica, 
Pages  and  the  entire  train . 

LIGHTS  down* 
CHANGE  set* 

Scene  IV.  — A street  in  Venice . Same  as  that  used for  Scene  2 
in  Acts  II  and  III \ 

LIGHTS  up* 

Enter  Shylock,  Salanio,  Antonio  and  Gaoler  from  r. 

Shy.  (c.).  Gaoler,  look  to  him  ; tell  not  me  of  mercy. 
This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis ; 

Gaoler,  look  to  him. 

Ant.  {up  r.  c.).  Hear  me  yet,  good  Shylock. 

Shy.  I’ll  have  my  bond  ; speak  not  against  my  bond  ; 

I have  sworn  an  oath  that  I will  have  my  bond. 

Thou  calPdst  me  dog  before  thou  hadst  a cause ; 

But,  since  I am  a dog,  beware  my  fangs. 

The  Duke  shall  grant  me  justice.  I do  wonder, 

Thou  naughty  gaoler,  that  thou  art  so  fond 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  request. 

Ant.  I pray  thee,  hear  me  speak. 

Shy.  I’ll  have  my  bond  ; I will  not  hear  thee  speak ; 

I’ll  have  my  bond ; and  therefore  speak  no  more. 

I’ll  not  be  made  a soft  and  dull-ey’d  fool, 

To  shake  the  hand,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.  Follow  not ; 

I’ll  have  no  speaking ; I will  have  my  bond. 

Exit  Shylock,  l. 

Salan.  (l.).  It  is  the  most  impenetrable  cur 
That  ever  kept  with  men. 

Ant.  (c.).  Let  him  alone; 

I’ll  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 

He  seeks  my  life ; his  reasons  well  I know. 

I oft  deliver’d  from  his  forfeitures 

Many  that  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me ; 

Therefore  he  hates  me. 


56 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Salan.  I am  sure  the  Duke 

Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 

Ant.  The  Duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law ; 

For  the  commodity  that  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied, 

Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  the  state ; 

RING  lights  down  iot  change* 

Since  that  the  trade  and  profit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations.  Therefore,  go. 

These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  ’bated  me 
That  I shall  hardly  spare  a pound  of  flesh 
To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor. 

Well,  gaoler,  on.  Pray  God,  Bassanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  his  debt,  and  then  I care  not! 

Exeunt,  l. 

LIGHTS  down* 
CHANGE  set* 

Scene  V.  — The  home  of  Portia  at  Belmont . Lofty  room 
with  antique  furniture.  Large  and  massive  carved  table 
up  l.  c.,  with  huge , carved , straight-backed  chair  with 
heavy  arms.  Similar  chairs  about  room , which  is  hung 
with  tapestry . 

LIGHTS  up* 

(Portia  is  discovered  at  table  with  Nerissa  leaning  on  back  of 
her  chair,  and  Balthazar  standing  before  her.  Lorenzo 
and  Jessica  are  together  down  r.  c.) 

Lor.  Madam,  although  I speak  it  in  your  presence, 

You  have  a noble  and  a true  conceit 
Of  godlike  amity,  which  appears  most  strongly 
In  bearing  thus  the  absence  of  your  lord. 

But  if  you  knew  to  whom  you  show  this  honor, 

How  true  a gentleman  you  send  relief, 

How  dear  a lover  of  my  lord  your  husband, 

I know  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


57 


Por.  I never  did  repent  for  doing  good, 

Nor  shall  not  now. 

This  comes  too  near  the  praising  of  myself  ! 

Therefore,  no  more  of  it ; hear  other  things, 

Lorenzo,  I commit  into  your  hands 
The  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house 
Until  my  lord’s  return. 

My  people  do  already  know  my  mind, 

And  will  acknowledge  you  and  Jessica 
In  place  of  Lord  Bassanio  and  myself. 

So  fare  you  well  till  we  shall  meet  again. 

Lor.  Fair  thoughts  and  happy  hours  attend  on  you. 

Jes.  I wish  your  ladyship  all  heart’s  content. 

Por.  I thank  you  for  your  wish  and  am  well  pleas’d 
To  wish  it  back  on  you ; fare  you  well,  Jessica. 

Exeunt  Jessica  and  Lorenzo  up  r.  c. 

(As  soon  as  they  are  off  Portia  rises , and  sitting  on  arm  of 
her  chair , speaks  hurriedly  to  servant .) 

Now,  Balthazar, 

As  I have  ever  found  thee  honest,  true, 

So  let  me  find  thee  still.  Take  this  same  letter  (gives  him  a 
letter ), 

And  use  thou  all  the  endeavor  of  a man 
In  speed  to  Padua ; see  thou  render  this 
Into  my  cousin’s  hand,  Doctor  Bellario ; 

And  look  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth  give  thee. 

Bring  them,  I pray  thee,  with  imagin’d  speed 

Unto  the  traject,  to  the  common  ferry 

Which  trades  to  Venice.  Waste  no  time  in  words, 

But  get  thee  gone.  I shall  be  there  before  thee. 

Balth.  Madam,  I go  with  all  convenient  speed. 

Exit  down  l 

Por.  Come  on,  Nerissa  ; I have  work  in  hand 
That  you  yet  know  not  of ; we’ll  see  our  husbands 
Before  they  think  of  us. 


WARN  curtain. 


58 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Ner.  Shall  they  see  us  ? 

Por.  They  shall,  Nerissa.  IT1  hold  thee  any  wager, 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 

I’ll  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 

And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace  ; 

And  speak,  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy, 

With  a reed  voice ; and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a manly  stride  ( strides  down  r.  with  a mannish  gaif),  and 
speak  of  frays 

Like  a line  bragging  youth ; and  tell  quaint  lies  ( stroking  a?i 
imaginary  moustache  with  one  hand ; other  hand  as  if  on 
hilt  of  sword  ) — 

How  honorable  ladies  sought  my  love, 

Which  I denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died ; 

I could  not  do  withal ; then  I’ll  repent, 

And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I had  not  kill’d  them.  {Laugh- 
ing gaily .) 

But,  come.  ( Giving  her  hand  to  Nerissa.)  I’ll  tell  thee  all 
my  whole  device 

When  I am  in  my  coach,  which  stays  for  us 
At  the  park  gate  ; and  therefore  haste  away, 

For  we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day. 

Exeunt  hurriedly . 

RING  quick  curtain* 

QUICK  CURTAIN. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene. — Court  of  f ustic e in  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice.  A 
large  room  with  painted  ceiling  and  walls . Along  the  L. 
wall  a raised  platform  on  which  is  the  Duke’s  seat  and 
those  of  the  Council  of  Venice . It  is  approached  by  half  a 
dozen  carpeted  steps , the  carved  seats  being  placed  against 
the  walls  like  stalls  in  a church  choir . In  the  r.  wall  of 

the  room  the  entrances . Across  the  back  is  a barrier  of 
carved  wood , and  behind  is  a crowd  of  the  Venetian  pop  a- 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


59 


lace  in  picturesque  dress . Dcwn  l.  c.  is  a wide  flat-topped 
desk  07i  which  are  books , and  behmd  it,  facing  the  audience, 
is  seated  the  Clerk.  Two  low  broad-backed  chairs  are 
beside  the  table,  and  a stool.  Guards  at  door  and  up  stage 
to  keep  populace  in  order.  0?i  table  are  bags  of  money. 
At  the  rise  of  curtain  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Gratiano  a?id 
Salarino  are  already  on  the  stage,  down  at  extreme  l.,  in 
conversation.  A flourish  of  trumpets , and  the  Duke  enters 
with  his  tram.  As  he  crosses  the  stage  all  bow  before  him. 
He  moimts  the  platform  and  seats  himself,  the  Council  tak- 
ing its  place  on  either  side  of  him.  Gratiano  and  Salar- 
ino cross  to  R. 

LIGHTS  full  tip. 

Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  here  ? 

Ant.  ( stepping  forward,  facing  Duke).  Ready,  so  please 
Your  Grace. 

Duke  (to  Antonio).  I am  sorry  for  thee ; thou  art  come 
to  answer 

A stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch, 

Incapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

Ant.  I have  heard 

Your  Grace  hath  ta’en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course ; but  since  he  stands  obdurate, 

And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy’s  reach,  I do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury ; and  am  arm’d 
To  suffer  with  a quietness  of  spirit 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke.  Go  one,  and  call  the  Jew  into  the  court. 

(Guard  opens  door  at  r.) 

Salan.  He  is  ready  at  the  door.  He  comes,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Make  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our  face. 

(Antonio  steps  back  beside  Bassanio.) 

Enter  Shylock.  The  Duke,  studies  him  as  he  crosses  to  c., 
facmg  him.  The  populace  push  a?id  crowd  to  see  him. 


6o 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE , 


Duke.  Shylock,  the  world  thinks  — and  I think  so,  too 
That  thou  but  lead’st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act;  and  then,  ’tis  thought 
Thou’lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse,  more  strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty. 

And  where  thou  now  exact’st  the  penalty 
(Which  is  a pound  of  this  poor  merchant’s  flesh), 

Thou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture 

But,  touch’d  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 

Forgive  a moiety  of  the  principal ; 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 

That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back  — 

Enough  to  press  a royal  merchant  down 
And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 
From  brassy  bosoms  and  rough  hearts  of  flint, 

From  stubborn  Turks  and  Tartars,  never  train’d 
To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 

We  all  expect  a gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Shy.  (c.).  I have  possess’d  Your  Grace  of  what  I purpo 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter  and  your  city’s  freedom. 

You’ll  ask  me  why  I rather  choose  to  have 
A weight  of  carrion  flesh  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  ? I’ll  not  answer  that, 

But  say  it  is  my  humor.  Is  it  answer’d  ? 

W7hat  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a rat, 

And  I be  pleas’d  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ? What,  are  you  answer’d  yet  ? 

Some  men  there  are  love  not  a gaping  pig ; 

Some  that  are  mad  if  they  behold  a cat. 

Now  for  your  answer  : 

As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render’d 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a gaping  pig ; 

Why  he,  a harmless  necessary  cat ; 

So  can  I give  no  reason,  nor  I will  not, 

More  than  a lodg’d  hate  and  a certain  loathing 
I bear  Antonio,  that  I follow  thus 
A losing  suit  against  him.  Are  you  answer’d  ? 

Bass.  This  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 

To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


61 


Shy.  (to  Bassanio).  I am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with 
my  answer. 

Bass.  Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shy.  Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 

Bass.  Every  offence  is  not  a hate  at  first. 

Shy.  What ! wouldst  thou  have  a serpent  sting  thee 
twice  ? 

Ant.  (placing  his  hand  on  Bassanio’s  shoulder  to  restrain 
hint).  I pray  you  think  — you  question  with  the  Jew  ; 
You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bate  its  usual  height ; 

You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf 
Why  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  lamb ; 

You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops  and  to  make  no  noise 
When  they  are  fretten  with  the  gusts  of  heaven  ; 

You  may  as  well  do  anything  most  hard 

As  seek  to  soften  that  (than  which  what’s  harder  ?) 

His  Jewish  heart.  Therefore  I do  beseech  you 
Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  further  means, 

But,  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency, 

Let  me  have  judgment  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bass,  (to  Shylock).  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here 
is  six.  (Approachmg  desk  and  placing  his  hands  on  the 
bags  of  coin  therei) 

Shy.  ( facmg  Bassanio,  as  he  speaks  slowly  and  emphati- 
cally, tapping  the  bags  with  his  knife , which  he  draws  fro?n 
his  girdle).  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a ducat, 

I would  not  draw  them  ; I would  have  my  bond. 

Duke  (to  Shylock).  How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy, 
rend’ring  none  ? 

Shy.  (facing  the  Duke).  What  judgment  shall  I dread, 
doing  no  wrong  ? 

You  have  among  you  many  a purchas’d  slave 
Which,  like  your  asses  and  your  dogs  and  mules, 

You  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts 
Because  you  bought  them.  Shall  I say  to  you, 

Let  them  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs  ? 

Why  sweat  they  under  burdens  ? Let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  and  let  their  palates 


62 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Be  season’d  with  such  viands  ? You  will  answer, 

The  slaves  are  ours.  So  do  I answer  you. 

The  pound  of  flesh  which  I demand  of  him 
Is  dearly  bought ; ?tis  mine  and  I will  have  it. 

If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law ! 

There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice. 

I stand  for  judgment.  Answer  ; shall  I have  it  ? 

Duke.  Upon  my  power,  I may  dismiss  this  court 
Unless  Bellario,  a learned  doctor 
Whom  I have  sent  for  to  determine  this, 

Come  here  to-day. 

(Guard  enters  and  whispers  to  Salarino.) 

Salar.  (stepping  forward}.  My  lord,  here  stays  without 

A messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor, 

New  come  from  Padua. 

Duke.  Bring  us  the  letters.  Call  the  messenger. 

Exit  Salarino  at  r. 

Bass,  (both  hands  on  Antonio’s  shoulders').  Good  cheer, 
Antonio  ! What,  man  ? Courage  yet ! 

The  Jew  shall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones  and  all, 

Ere  thou  shalt  lose  for  me  one  drop  of  blood. 

Ant.  I am  a tainted  wether  of  the  flock, 

Meetest  for  death ; the  weakest  kind  of  fruit 
Droops  earliest  to  the  ground,  and  so  let  me. 

You  cannot  better  be  employ’d,  Bassanio, 

Than  to  live  still  and  write  mine  epitaph. 

Enter  Salarino  at  r.,  showing  in  Nerissa,  dressed  like  a law- 
yer’s clerk.  Nerissa  crosses  to  Duke. 

Duke  (to  Nerissa).  Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  ? 
Ner.  (at  foot  of  steps  ; bows).  From  both,  my  lord.  Bella- 
rio greets  Your  Grace.  (Presents  a letter .) 

(During  this  scene,  while  Duke  reads  letter , Shylock  whets  his 
knife  on  the  sole  of  his  boot.) 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 63 

Bass.  (l.).  Why  does  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  earnestly? 
Shy.  (c.).  To  cut  the  forfeit  from  that  bankrupt  there. 
Gra.  (r.).  Not  on  thy  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  harsh  Jew, 
Thou  mak’st  thy  knife  keen  ; but  no  metal  can  — 

No,  not  the  hangman’s  axe  — bear  half  the  keenness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.  Can  no  prayers  pierce  thee  ? 

Shy.  No  ; none  that  thou  hast  wit  enough  to  make. 

Gra.  Oh,  be  thou  damn’d,  inexorable  dog  1 
And  for  thy  life  let  justice  be  accus’d. 

Thou  almost  mak’st  me  waver  in  my  faith, 

To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 

That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Into  the  trunks  of  men  ; thy  currish  spirit 
Govern’d  a wolf,  who,  hang’d  for  human  slaughter, 

Even  from  the  gallows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet, 

And  whilst  thou  lay’st  in  thy  unhallow’d  dam, 

Infus’d  itself  in  thee ; for  thy  desires 
Are  wolfish,  bloody,  starv’d  and  ravenous. 

Shy.  ( still  whetting  his  knife').  Till  thou  canst  rail  the  seal 
from  off  my  bond  ( taps  the  bond  at  his  belt  with  knife ), 
Thou  but  offend’st  thy  lungs  to  speak  so  loud. 

Repair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin.  (Rises l)  I stand  here  for  law. 

Bass,  (finishing  letter).  This  letter  from  Bellario  doth 
commend 

A young  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court. 

(To  Nerissa.)  Where  is  he? 

Ner.  He  attendeth  here  hard  by 

To  know  your  answer,  whether  you’ll  admit  him. 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart.  Some  three  or  four  of  you 
Go  give  him  courteous  welcome  to  this  place. 

Exeunt  Salarino  and  Gratiano  at  r. 

Meantime,  the  court  shall  hear  Bellario’s  letter. 

(Duke  passes  letter  to  Clerk,  who  rises  in  his  place  behind 
table  and  reads.) 

Clerk.  “Your  Grace  shall  understand  that  at  the  receipt 
of  your  letter  I am  very  sick,  but  in  the  instant  that  your 


64 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


messenger  came,  in  loving  visitation  was  with  me  a young 
doctor  of  Rome;  his  name  is  Balthazar.  I acquainted  him 
with  the  cause  of  controversy  between  the  Jew  and  Antonio 
the  merchant.  We  turned  o’er  many  books  together.  He 
is  furnish’d  with  my  opinion,  which,  better’d  with  his  own 
learning  (the  greatness  whereof  I cannot  enough  commend), 
comes  with  him,  at  my  importunity,  to  fill  up  Your  Grace’s 
request  in  my  stead.  I beseech  you,  let  his  lack  of  years  be 
no  impediment  to  let  him  lack  a reverend  estimation  ; for  I 
never  knew  so  young  a body  with  so  old  a head.  I leave 
him  to  your  gracious  acceptance,  whose  trial  shall  better 
publish  his  commendation.” 

Duke.  You  hear  the  learned  Bellario  what  he  writes  ; 
And  here,  I take  it,  is  the  doctor  come. 

Re-enter  Salarino  and  Gratiano,  conducting  Portia,  dressed 
as  a Doctor  of  Law , in  red  robe  and  cap . She  crosses  to 
Duke  and  mounts  steps  to  take  the  hand  he  offers . 

Give  me  your  hand.  Came  you  from  old  Bellario  ? 

Por.  I did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  You  are  welcome  ; take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  ? 

(Portia  steps  to  seat  at  r.  of  table,  c.  Nerissa  blaces  books  on 
table  and  sits  on  stool.) 

Por.  ( sits  c.).  I am  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here  and  which  the  Jew  ? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

(Shylock  steps  forward  r.  c.  and  faces  Portia.  Antonio  at 

l.  c.) 

Por.  {to  Shylock).  Is  your  name  Shylock  ? 

Shy.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow ; 

Yet  in  such  rule  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you  as  you  do  proceed. 

(To  Antonio.)  You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not? 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


65 


Ant.  Ay  ; so  he  says. 

Por.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 

Ant.  I do. 

Por.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shy.  On  what  compulsion  must  I ? Tell  me  that. 

Por.  (rising).  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain’d  ; 

It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 

Upon  the  place  beneath.  It  is  twice  bless’d : 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes. 

’Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown. 

His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings, 

But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway, 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God’s, 

When  mercy  seasons  justice.  Therefore,  Jew, 

Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this  — 

That  in  the  course  of  justice  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation.  We  do  pray  for  mercy, 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.  I have  spoke  thus  much 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea, 

Which,  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  ’gainst  the  merchant  there. 

Shy.  My  deeds  upon  my  head.  I crave  the  law, 

The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Por.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  ? 

Bass,  (stepping  forward  to  table  and  showing  money  bags . 
Portia  gives  him  a quizzical  look  as  he  faces  Shylock). 
Yes ; here  I tender’ t for  him  in  the  court  — 

Yea,  twice  the  sum  ; if  that  will  not  suffice, 

I will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o’er, 

On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart. 

(Portia  arches  her  eyebrows , then  turns  calmly  to  Shylock  to 
conceal  the  movement?) 

If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 

That  malice  bears  down  truth.  And  I beseech  you, 


66 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE , 


Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority ; 

To  do  a great  right,  do  a little  wrong ; 

And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Por.  It  must  not  be  ; there  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a decree  established ; 

’Twill  be  recorded  for  a precedent, 

And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example, 

Will  rush  into  the  state.  It  cannot  be. 

Shy.  {gloating  over  Bassanio;.  A Daniel  come  to  judg- 
ment ! Yea,  a Daniel ! 

{Approaching  Portia  and  kissing  her  rob  el)  Oh,  wise  young 
judge,  how  do  I honor  thee ! 

Por.  {to  Shylock).  I pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the 
bond. 

Shy.  {servilely  taking  it  from  his  breast ; as  he  carefully  but 
eagerly  u?ifolds  it).  Here  ’tis,  most  reverend  doctor, 
here  it  is.  {Gives  it  to  Portia  and  rubs  his  hands l) 

Por.  ( taking  it , but  addressing  Shylock  before  looking  at  the 
bond),  Shylock,  there’s  thrice  thy  money  offer’d  thee. 

Shy.  {still  rubbing  his  hands).  An  oath,  an  oath,  I have 
an  oath  in  heaven. 

Shall  I lay  perjury  upon  my  soul  ? 

No  ! not  for  Venice  ! 

Por.  {slowly  turns  her  eyes  to  the  bond).  Why,  this  bond 
is  forfeit ; 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 

Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.  {To  Shylock.)  Be  merci- 
ful ! 

Take  thrice  thy  money;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shy.  {quickly,  as  Portia  makes  a movement  to  do  so,  prevent- 
ing her).  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor. 

It  doth  appear  you  are  a worthy  judge ; 

You  know  the  law ; your  exposition 

Hath  been  most  sound ; I charge  you  by  the  law, 

Whereof  you  are  a well-deserving  pillar, 

Proceed  to  judgment ; by  my  soul,  I swear 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me.  I stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant.  (l.).  Most  heartily  I do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


67 


Por.  Why,  then,  thus  it  is. 

(To  Antonio.)  You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

(Antonio,  in  spite  of  Bassanio’s  tears,  opens  the  neck  of  his 
doublet.) 

Shy.  Oh,  noble  judge ! Oh,  excellent  young  man  ! 

Por.  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty, 

Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  ?Tis  very  true.  Oh,  wise  and  upright  judge ! 

How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks ! 

Por.  (to  Antonio).  Therefore,  lay  bare  thy  bosom. 

(Antonio  does  so.) 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast, 

So  says  the  bond.  Doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? 

(Pointing  to  words  in  the  bond  with  point  of  his  knife l)  Near- 
est his  heart.  (Knife  on  the  words.)  Those  are  the 
very  words. 

Por.  It  is  so.  Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shy.  ( taking  a balance  from  his  breast ; movement  of  excite- 
ment in  the  populace  and  of  disgust  among  other  characters). 
I have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your  charge 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  (looking  at  bond).  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 

Por.  It  is  not  so  expressed  ; but  what  of  that  ? 

’Twas  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy.  (still  examining  bond).  I cannot  find  it;  ’tis  not  in 
the  bond. 

Por.  (to  Antonio).  Come,  merchant,  have  you  anything 
to  say  ? 

Ant.  But  little  ; I am  arm’d  and  well  prepar’d. 

Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio.  (Takes  both  Bassanio’s 
ha?ids.  The  latter  tries  vainly  to  master  himself.  Portia 
watches  them  keenly , Shylock  with  impatience).  Fare 
you  well  1 

Grieve  not  that  I have  fall’n  to  this  for  you, 


68 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom ; it  is  still  her  use 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 

To  view  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow 
An  age  of  poverty ; from  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  a misery  does  she  cut  me  off. 

Commend  me  to  your  honorable  wife. 

Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio’s  end; 

Say  how  I loved  you,  speak  me  fair  in  death. 

And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge 
Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a love. 

Repent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 

And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt ; 

For  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough 
I’ll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Bass.  Antonio,  I am  married  to  a wife 
Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself  ; 

But  life  itself,  my  wife  and  all  the  world, 

Are  not  with  me  esteem’d  above  thy  life. 

I would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all, 

Here  to  this  devil  to  deliver  you. 

(Portia  coughs  and  wipes  her  mouth  with  her  handkerchief  to 
conceal  a smile.) 

Gra.  I have  a wife  whom,  I protest,  I love. 

(Nerissa  turns  quite  round  to  examine  him  as  he  speaks .) 

I would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew. 

(Nerissa  laughs  and  chokes  to  conceal  it.) 

Shy.  (aside).  These  be  the  Christian  husbands  ! I have 
a daughter  — 

’Would  any  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas 

Had  been  her  husband  rather  than  a Christian ! 

(To  Portia.)  We  trifle  time.  I pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 
Por.  (to  Shylock).  A pound  of  that  same  merchant’s 
flesh  is  thine ; 

The  court  awards  it  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


69 


Shy.  Most  rightful  judge  ! 

Por.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 
The  law  allows  it  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  Most  learned  judge  ! A sentence  — come,  prepare. 

( Approaches  Antonio  with  his  knife  in  his  hand.  Antonio 
bares  his  breast.  Portia  steps  between  thein .) 

Por.  Tarry  a little.  There  is  something  else.  ( Pause  of 
surprise .) 

This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood ; 

The  words  expressly  are,  a pound  of  flesh. 

Then  take  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 

But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are  by  the  laws  of  Venice  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

(Shylock  falls  back.  Bassanio  grasps  Antonio  by  the 
shoulders . Gratiano  and  Salanio  burst  into  laughter. 
The  populace  shows  excitement  and  is  calmed  by  Guards.) 

Gra.  ( imitating  Shylock’s  ma?mer  earlier  in  the  scene). 
Oh,  upright  judge ! (. Mockingly  to  Shylock.)  Mark, 

Jew  — oh,  learned  judge ! 

Shy.  ( dismayed ; to  Portia).  Is  that  the  law? 

Por.  (to  Shylock,  as  she  turns  over  pages  of  a book  Ner- 
issa  gives  her).  Thyself  shall  see  the  act ; 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assur’d 

Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desirest. 

Gra.  (mockingly).  Oh,  learned  judge!  Mark,  Jew — -a 
learned  judge ! 

Shy.  I take  this  offer,  then ; pay  the  bond  thrice, 

And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bass,  (picking  up  bags).  Here  is  the  money. 

Por.  (waving  him  back).  Stop  ! 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  — soft!  no  haste; 

He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gra.  Oh,  Jew  ! an  upright  judge,  a learned  judgfe  1 
Por.  (to  Shylock).  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the 
flesh. 


7o 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Shed  thou  no  blood,  nor  cut  thou  less  nor  more, 

But  just  a pound  of  flesh.  If  thou  tak’st  more 
Or  less  than  a just  pound  — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  ; nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a hair  — 

Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gra.  A second  Daniel,  a Daniel,  Jew  ! 

Now,  infidel,  I have  thee  on  the  hip. 

Por.  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ? Take  thy  forfeiture. 
Shy.  (to  Bassanio).  Give  me  my  principal  and  let  me  go. 
Bass,  (to  Shylock).  I have  it  ready  for  thee  ; here  it  is. 
Por.  (to  Bassanio).  He  hath  refus’d  it  in  the  open  court. 
He  shall  have  merely  justice  and  his  bond. 

Gra.  A Daniel,  still  say  I ; a second  Daniel ! 

I thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy.  (to  Portia).  Shall  I not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 
Por.  (to  Shylock).  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  for- 
feiture, 

To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.  Why,  then,  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it  1 
I’ll  stay  no  longer  question*  (Angrily  starts  to  go  to  R.) 

Por.  Tarry,  Jew. 

(Shylock  turns l) 

The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 

It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice  (turning  leaves  of  book). 

If  it  be  prov’d  against  an  alien 
That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 

The  party  ’gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive 
Shall  seize  one-half  his  goods ; the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state, 

And  the  offender’s  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  Duke  only,  ’gainst  all  other  voice. 

In  which  predicament,  I say,  thou  stand’st; 

For  it  appears  by  manifest  proceeding, 

That,  indirectly  and  directly  too, 

Thou  hast  contriv’d  against  the  very  life 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


71 


Of  the  defendant;  and  thou  hast  incurr’d 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehears’d. 

Down,  therefore  and  beg  mercy  of  the  Duke. 

(As  Shylock  is  about  to  fall  to  his  knees  Gratiano  seizes  him 
by  shoulders  and  holds  him  up.) 

Gra.  Beg  that  thou  mayst  have  leave  to  hang  thyself. 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 

Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a cord ; 

Therefore  thou  must  be  hang’d  at  the  state’s  charge.  (Lets 
Shylock  fall  to  his  knees.) 

Duke.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirit, 

I pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it. 

For  half  thy  wealth  it  is  Antonio’s ; 

The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state, 

Which  humbleness  may  drive  into  a fine. 

Por.  Ay,  for  the  state  ; not  for  Antonio. 

Shy.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all,  pardon  not  that. 

You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  ; you  take  my  life 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I live. 

Por.  What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  ? 

Gra.  (to  Antonio).  A halter  gratis ; nothing  else,  for 
God’s  sake ! 

Ant.  So  please  my  lord  the  Duke  and  all  the  court, 

To  quit  the  fine  for  one-half  of  his  goods 
I am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use,  to  render  it 
Upon  his  death  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter. 

Two  things  provided  more  — that  for  this  favor  ] 

He  presently  become  a Christian ; 

The  other,  that  he  do  record  a gift, 

Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess’d, 

Unto  his  son  Lorenzo  and  his  daughter. 

Duke.  He  shall  do  this,  or  else  I do  recant 
The  pardon  that  I late  pronounced  here. 

Por.  (to  Shylock).  Art  thou  contented,  Jew?  What 
dost  thou  say  ? 

Shy.  I am  content. 


72 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Por.  (to  Clerk).  Clerk,  draw  a deed  of  gift. 

Shy.  (rises  from  his  knees).  I pray  you,  give  me  leave  to 
go  from  hence ; 

I am  not  well ; send  the  deed  after  me 
And  I will  sign  it. 

Duke.  Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 

(Shylock  turns  to  go  off  r.) 

Gra.  (plucking  him  by  the  sleeve ).  In  christening  thou 
shalt  have  two  godfathers ; 

Had  I been  judge,  thou  shouldst  have  had  ten  more, 

To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  to  the  font. 

Exit  Shylock  at  r.,  hooted  by  crowd. 

Duke  (rising  a?id  descending  steps  to  Portia).  Sir,  I en- 
treat you  home  with  me  to  dinner. 

Por.  (to  Duke,  as  they  cross  stage  together).  I humbly  do 
desire  Your  Grace  of  pardon  ; 

I must  away  this  night  toward  Padua. 

And  it  is  meet  I presently  set  forth. 

Duke.  I am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman  ; 

For,  in  my  mind,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 

Portia  and  Duke  salitte  one  another.  Exeunt,  at  r.,  Duke 
and  Council.  The  populace  go  off  slowly  at  back , 
pushing  and  chaffing.  Bassanio  and  Antonio,  at  l.,  ap- 
proach Portia,  who  is  at  c.  Gratiano  and  Salanjo 
talk  with  Nerissa,  who  crosses  to  r.  c.  Portia  covers 
her  mouth  with  her  handkerchief  as  Bassanio  approaches 
her , and  struts  a bit  with  a thumb  in  the  arm- size  of  her 
robe. 

Bass.  (l.  c.).  Most  worthy  gentleman,  I and  my  friend 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties  ; in  lieu  whereof 
Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 

We  freely  cope  your  courteous  pains  withal. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


73 


Ant.  (l.).  And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above, 

In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore. 

Por.  (c.).  He  is  well  paid  that  is  well  satisfied; 

And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied, 

And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid ; 

My  mind  was  never  yet  more  mercenary. 

(To  Bassanio,  who  eyes  her  curiously .)  I pray  you,  know 
me  when  we  meet  again  ; 

I wish  you  well,  and  so  I take  my  leave.  (Starts  to  go  r.) 
Bass,  (detaining  her).  Dear  sir,  of  force  I must  attempt 
you  further 

Take  some  remembrance  of  us  as  a tribute. 

Not  as  a fee ; grant  me  two  things,  I pray  you  — 

Not  to  deny  me,  and  to  pardon  me. 

Por.  You  press  me  far,  and  therefore  I will  yield. 

(To  Antonio.)  Give  me  (pauses  as  if  seeking  something  to 
ask  for  ; sees  his  gloves)  your  gloves. 

(Antonio  gives  them  with  a laugh). 

Fll  wear  them  for  your  sake, 

And  for  your  love.  (To  Bassanio,  as  if  suddenly  seeing  the 
ring  she  had  given  him  in  the  previous  act)  I ’ll  take  this 
ring  from  you. 

(Bassanio  suddenly  draws  back  his  hand) 

Do  not  draw  back  your  hand ; Fll  take  no  more ; 

And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this. 

Bass.  This  ring,  good  sir— alas,  it  is  a trifle. 

I will  not  shame  myself  to  give  you  this. 

Por.  I will  have  nothing  else  but  only  this ; 

And  now,  methinks,  I have  a mind  to  it. 

Bass.  There’s  more  depends  on  this  than  on  the  value. 
The  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  I give  you, 

And  find  it  out  by  proclamation  ; 

Only  for  this,  I pray  you,  pardon  me. 

Por.  (shrugging  her  shoulders).  I see,  sir,  you  are  liberal 
in  offers. 

You  taught  me  first  to  beg,  and  now,  methinks, 

You  teach  me  how  a beggar  should  be  answer’d. 


74 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Bass,  {frankly).  Good  sir,  this  ring  was  given  me  by  my 
wife  ; 

And  when  she  put  it  on  she  made  me  vow 
That  I should  neither  sell,  nor  give,  nor  lose  it. 

For.  (curling  her  /if).  That  ’scuse  serves  many  men  to 
save  their  gifts. 

And  if  your  wife  be  not  a mad  woman, 

And  know  how  well  I have  deserv’d  this  ring, 

WARN  curtain* 

She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  forever 

For  giving  it  to  me.  Well,  peace  be  with  you  ! ( Waves  her 

hand  carelessly .) 

Exeunt  Portia  and  Nerissa  at  r. 

Ant.  My  Lord  Bassanio,  let  him  have  the  ring  ; 

Let  his  deservings  and  my  love  withal 
Be  valued  ’gainst  your  wife’s  commandment. 

Bass,  (gives  ring  to  Gratiano).  Go,  Gratiano,  run  and 
overtake  him ; 

Give  him  the  ring,  and  bring  him,  if  thou  canst, 

Unto  Antonio’s  house.  Away  1 make  haste  1 

Exit  Gratiano  at  r. 

(To  Antonio.)  Come,  you  and  I will  thither  presently, 

And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  both 
Fly  toward  Belmont.  Come,  Antonio. 

RING  quick  curtain* 

Exeunt,  at  r. 

QUICK  CURTAIN, 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


75 


ACT  V. 

Scene.  — The  garden  of  Portia’s  house  at  Belmont.  At  r., 
broad  etitrance  to  the  house  is  visible , approached  by  a stately 
flight  of  steps  and  portico.  Dim  lights  within.  At  back , 
diagonally  across  the  upper  half  of  stage , a terrace  with  a 
stone  balustrade  from  which  stone  steps  descend  to  stage . 
On  the  terrace , amidst  tall  urns  of  flowers , plays  a foun- 
tain. 

{.Down  r.  c.,  a lo7v  stone  seat  on  which  Jessica  is  seated  with 
Lorenzo  at  her  feet.  Music  as  the  curtain  rises  and for  a 
few  seconds  after  it  is  up.) 

MOONLIGHT  on  set. 
MUSIC  at  n se. 

Lor.  The  moon  shines  bright  — in  such  a night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees, 

And  they  did  make  no  noise  — in  such  a night. 

Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls 
And  sigh’d  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night. 

Jes.  In  such  a night 

Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o’ertrip  the  dew, 

And  saw  the  lion’s  shadow  ere  himself, 

And  ran  dismay’d  away. 

Lor.  In  such  a night 

Did  Jessica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew, 

And  with  an  un thrift  love  did  run  from  Venice 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jes.  And  in  such  a night 

Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  lov’d  her  well ; 

Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith, 

And  ne’er  a true  one. 

Lor.  And  in  such  a night 

Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a little  shrew, 

Slander  her  love,  and  he  forgave  it  her. 


76 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Jes.  I would  out-night  you,  did  nobody  come, 

But,  hark ! ( They  listen .)  I hear  the  footing  of  a man. 

(Lorenzo  rises  and  Stephano  appears  on  terrace .) 

Lor.  (at  c.).  Who  comes  so  fast  in  silence  of  the  night  t 

Stephano.  A friend. 

Lor.  A friend  ? What  friend  ? Your  name,  I pray  you, 
friend  ? 

Steph.  Stephano  is  my  name,  and  I bring  word 
My  mistress  will  before  the  break  of  day 
Be  here  at  Belmont. 

I pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  return’d  ? 

(Jessica  rises  and  comes  to  c.  to  Lorenzo.  Stephano  comes 

downl) 

Lor.  He  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  heard  from  him. 

But  go  we  in,  I pray  thee,  Jessica, 

And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 

Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  of  the  house.  ( Gives  his 
hand  to  Jessica.  They  go  to  l.  and  are  about  to  enter, 
when  the  voice  of  Launcelot  is  heard  off  r.) 

Laun.  (within).  Sola,  sola!  Wo,  ha,  ho!  Sola,  sola! 

Lor.  Who  calls  ? 

Enter  Launcelot  on  terrace . 

Laun.  Sola!  Did  you  see  master  Lorenzo  and  mistress 
Lorenzo  ? Sola,  sola  ! 

Lor.  Leave  hollaing,  man  ; here. 

Laun.  Sola  ? Where  ? Where  ? 

Lor.  Here. 

Laun.  Tell  him  there’s  a post  come  from  my  master, 
with  his  horn  full  of  good  news.  My  master  will  be 
here  ere  morning. 

Exit  on  terrace  at  L. 

Lor.  (to  Jessica).  Sweet  soul,  let’s  in,  and  there  expect 
their  coming. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


77 


And  yet  no  matter  — why  should  we  go  in  ? 

My  friend  Stephano,  signify,  I pray  you, 

Within  the  house  your  mistress  is  at  hand. 

And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. 

Exit  Stephano  into  house  ati ,.  Lorenzo  and  Jessica  return 
to  seat  at  L.  C. 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  I 
Here  will  we  sit  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ; soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

Sit,  Jessica. 

(Jessica  sits  once  more  and  Lorenzo  sits  beside  her . Both  gaze 
at  the  shy.) 

Look ! how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  ; 

There’s  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold’st 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 

Still  quiring  to  the  young-ey’d  cherubins. 

Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 

But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in  we  cannot  hear  it. 

MUSIC  outside* 

Jes.  I am  never  merry  when  I hear  sweet  music. 

Lor.  The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive ; 

For  do  but  note  a wild  and  wanton  herd, 

Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 

Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing  and  neighing  loud, 

If  they  but  hear  perchance  a trumpet  sound 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a mutual  stand, 

Their  savage  eyes  turn’d  to  a modest  gaze 

By  the  sweet  power  of  music.  Therefore,  the  poet 

Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones  and  floods ; 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  mov’d  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 


78 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Is  fit  for  treason,  stratagems  and  spoils ; 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

Enter  quietly  on  terrace , Portia  and  Nerissa.  They  pause  at 
the  top  of  the  steps . Portia  points  to  the  light  within  the 
portico  of  the  house.) 

Por.  That  light  we  see  is  burning  in  my  hall. 

Ho v/  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  I 
So  shines  a good  deed  in  a naughty  world. 

(As  she  speaks  Lorenzo  rises  and  goes  up  stage  with  Jessica.) 

Lor.  That  is  the  voice, 

Or  I am  much  deceiv’d,  of  Portia. 

Por.  (to  Nerissa).  He  knows  me  as  the  blind  man  knows 
the  cuckoo  — 

By  the  bad  voice. 

Lor.  (laughing).  Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 

Por.  We  have  been  praying  for  our  husbands’  welfare, 
Which  speed,  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words. 

Are  they  returned  ? (Descends  with  Nerissa,  and  gives  her 
hand  to  Lorenzo,  which  he  kisses.) 

Lor.  Madam,  they  are  not  yet ; 

But  there  is  come  a messenger  before 
To  signify  their  coming. 

Por.  ' Go  in,  Nerissa, 

Give  order  to  my  servants  that  they  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  being  absent  hence  ; 

Nor  you,  Lorenzo  — Jessica,  nor  you. 

Exit  Nerissa  into  house  at  l. 

Lor.  (r.).  Your  husband  is  at  hand;  I hear  his  trumpet, 

TRUMPET  sounds  off  R, 

We  are  no  tell-tales,  madam  ; fear  you  not. 

Por.  (c.).  This  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  daylight  sick, 
It  looks  a little  paler ; ’tis  a day 
Such  as  a day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


79 


Enter  Antonio,  Bassanio,  Gratiano  and  their  followers , 
from  r.  As  Bassanio  descends  the  steps  from  terrace, 
Portia  hastens  to  greet  him.  Nerissa  re-enters  and  goes 
hurriedly  to  Gratiano,  with  whom  she  converses  up  l. 
Lorenzo  and  Jessica  stroll  on  terrace . 

You  are  welcome  home,  my  lord. 

Bass.  {e7nhracing  her).  I thank  you,  madam ; give  wel- 
come to  my  friend.  (. Presenting  Antonio.) 

This  is  the  man  — this  is  Antonio  — 

To  whom  I am  so  infinitely  bound. 

Por.  {giving  Antonio  her  hand).  You  should  in  all  sense 
be  much  bound  to  him, 

For,  as  I hear,  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 

Ant.  No  more  than  I am  well  acquitted  of. 

Por.  Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house. 

It  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words, 

Therefore,  I scant  this  breathing  courtesy. 

Gra.  (whose  conversatio?i  with  Nerissa  has  become  very  ani- 
mated).  By  yonder  moon,  I swear,  you  do  me  wrong  ; 
In  faith,  I gave  it  to  the  judge’s  clerk. 

Por.  (turning  toward  them).  A quarrel,  ho,  already  ? 
What’s  the  matter  ? 

Gra.  (to  Portia).  About  a hoop  of  gold,  a paltry  ring 
That  she  did  give  me ; whose  posy  was 
For  all  the  world  like  cutler’s  poetry 

Upon  a knife,  “ Love  me,  and  leave  me  not.”  ( Comes  down 
L.  c.) 

Ner.  (following  him).  What  talk  you  of  the  posy  or  the 
value  ? 

You  swore  to  me  when  I did  give  it  you 
That  you  would  wear  it  till  your  hour  of  death, 

And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave. 

Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  vehement  oaths, 

You  should  have  been  respective  and  have  kept  it. 

Gave  it  a judge’s  clerk ! No,  Heaven’s  my  judge, 

The  clerk  will  ne’er  wear  hair  on’s  face  that  had  it. 

Gra.  He  will,  an  if  he  live  to  be  a man. 

Ner.  Ay,  if  a woman  live  to  be  a man. 

Gra.  Now,  by  this  hand,  I gave  it  to  a youth  — 

A kind  of  boy ; a little  scrubbed  boy, 


So 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


No  higher  than  thyself  ; the  judge’s  clerk ; 

A prating  boy,  that  begg’d  it  as  a fee ; 

I could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him. 

Por.  (c.,  to  Gratiano).  You  were  to  blame — I must  be 
plain  with  you  — 

To  part  so  slightly  with  your  wife’s  first  gift ; 

A thing  stuck  on  with  oaths  upon  your  finger, 

And  so  riveted  with  faith  unto  your  flesh. 

(Bassanio  at  r.  c.  conceals  his  hand i) 

I gave  my  love  a ring,  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it.  ( Turns  to  Bassanio.)  And  here  he 
stands. 

I dare  be  sworn  for  him  he  would  not  leave  it, 

Nor  pluck  it  from  his  finger,  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.  (Turning  back  to  Gratiano.) 
Now,  in  faith,  Gratiano, 

You  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a cause  of  grief ; 

An  ’twere  to  me,  I should  be  mad  at  it. 

Bass,  (aside).  Why,  I were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off, 
And  swear  I lost  the  ring  defending  it. 

Gra.  (to  Portia).  My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg’d  it,  and,  indeed, 

Deserv’d  it,  too ; and  then  the  boy,  his  clerk, 

That  took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begg’d  mine. 

And  neither  man  nor  master  would  take  aught 
But  the  two  rings. 

Por.  (to  Bassanio).  What  ring  gave  you,  my  lord  ? 

Not  that,  I hope,  which  you  receiv’d  of  me. 

Bass.  If  I could  add  a lie  unto  a fault 
I would  deny  it.  (Holding  out  his  handl)  But  you  see  my 
finger 

Hath  not  the  ring  upon  it ; it  is  gone. 

Por.  Even  so  void  is  your  false  heart  of  truth  ! 

By  Heaven,  I will  ne’er  come  in  your  sight 
Until  I see  the  ring.  (Goes  up  stage  r.  c.,  holding  up  the 
hand  on  which  is  the  ring.) 

Ner.  (followmg  Portia  l.  c.,  with  same  business ).  Nor  I 
in  yours 

Till  I again  see  mine. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


Bass,  {following  Portia  on  r., protesting ).  Sweet  Portia, 
If  you  did  know  to  whom  I gave  the  ring, 

If  you  did  know  for  whom  I gave  the  ring, 

And  would  conceive  for  what  I gave  the  ring, 

And  how  unwillingly  I left  the  ring, 

When  nought  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring, 

You  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure. 

Por.  {coming  dow?i  r.  c.,  followed  by  Bassanio,  r.).  If  you 
had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring, 

Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring, 

Or  your  own  honor  to  retain  the  ring, 

You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  ring. 

What  man  is  there  so  much  unreasonable, 

If  you  had  pleas’d  to  have  defended  it 
With  any  terms  of  zeal,  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a ceremony  ? 

Nerissa  teaches  me  what  to  believe  ; 

I’ll  die  for’t  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 

Bass.  No,  by  mine  honor,  madam,  by  my  soul, 

No  woman  had  it  but  a civil  doctor, 

Even  he  that  had  held  up  the  very  life 

Of  my  dear  friend.  What  should  I say,  sweet  lady  ? 

I was  enforced  to  send  it  after  him. 

I was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy. 

My  honor  would  not  let  ingratitude 
So  much  besmear  it.  Pardon  me,  good  lady, 

And  by  these  blessed  candles  of  the  night, 

Had  you  been  there  I think  you  would  have  begged 
The  ring  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 

Por.  {going  up  stage , r.  c.,  accompanied  by  Nerissa,  l.  c., 
followed  by  Bassanio,  r.,  and  Gratiano,  l.).  Let  not 
that  doctor  e’er  come  near  my  house ; 

Since  he  hath  got  the  jewel  that  I loved, 

And  that  which  you  did  swear  to  keep  for  me, 

I will  become  as  liberal  as  you. 

I’ll  not  deny  him  anything  I have. 

{Up  stage  she  and  Nerissa  compare  rings  before  turning  to  come 
down , still  followed  by  Bassanio  a?id  Gratiano.) 

Ner.  Nor  I his  clerk  ; therefore  be  well  advised 
How  you  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 


8 2 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


(As  they  come  down , Antonio  from  the  extreme  r., 
has  watched  the  scene , to  r.  c.,  between  Portia 
Bassanio.) 

Ant.  (A?  Portia).  I am  the  unhappy  subject  of  these 
quarrels. 

Por.  (to  Antonio,  pausing  at  c.).  Sir,  grieve  not  you ; 
you  are  welcome,  notwithstanding. 

Bass.  (r.).  Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforced  wrong, 

And  in  the  hearing  of  these  many  friends 
"I  swear  to  thee,  even  by  thine  fair  eyes, 

Wherein  I see  myself  — 

Por.  (c.).  Mark  you  but  that ! 

In  both  my  eyes  he  doubly  sees  himself ; 

In  each  eye,  one.  Swear  by  your  double  self, 

And  there’s  an  oath  of  credit. 

Bass.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I swear 
I never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  thee. 

Ant.  (r.  c.,  to  Portia).  I once  did  lend  my  body  for  his 
wealth, 

Which  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband’s  ring 
Had  quite  miscarried.  I dare  be  bound  again, 

My  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 

Por.  (to  Antonio).  Then  you  shall  be  his  surety.  Give 
him  this, 

And  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the  other.  (Takes  ring  from 
her  finger  and  gwes  it  to  Antonio.) 

Ant.  (passing  the  /ing  to  Bassanio).  Here,  Lord  Bassa- 
nio, swear  to  keep  this  ring. 

Bass,  (takes  the  ring  and  places  it  on  his  ha?id;  them  stands 
amazed , looking  from  ring  to  Portia  and  back  again . He 
moves  to  r.  c.  Antonio  goes  r.,  accompanying  this  busi- 
ness. Nerissa,  at  l.  c.,  has  given  her  ring  to  Gratiano 
at  l.).  By  Heaven  ! it  is  the  same  I gave  the  doctor. 

Portia  ( falling  on  her  knees  in  simulated  tears).  I had  it 
of  him  ; pardon  me,  Bassanio. 

Ner.  (imitating  Portia’s  business ).  And  pardon  me,  my 
gentle  Gratiano ; 

For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor’s  clerk, 

Did  give  me  this. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 


% 


Gra.  Why,  this  is  like  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  when  the  ways  are  fair  enough. 

Por.  {rising ; laughing ).  You  are  all  amaz’d. 

Here  is  a letter,  read  it  at  your  leisure.  ( Gives  letter  to 
Bassanio.) 

It  comes  from  Padua,  from  Bellario. 

There  you  shall  find  that  Portia  was  the  doctor, 

Nerissa  there,  her  clerk.  {Seriously  giving  both  ha?ids  to  An- 
tonio.) 

Antonio,  you  are  welcome  ; 

And  I have  better  news  in  store  for  you 

Than  you  expect;  unseal  this  letter  soon.  ( Gives  him  a 
letter.) 

There  you  shall  find  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbor  suddenly. 

(Antonio  goes  r.  to  read  letter .) 

Bass,  {to  Portia).  Were  you  the  doctor  and  I knew  you 
not  ? {Embraces  her.) 

Gra.  {to  Nerissa).  Were  you  the  clerk  and  yet  I knew 
you  not  ? {Embraces  her.) 

Ant.  {approaching  Portia).  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given 
me  life  and  living  ; 

WARN  curtain* 

For  here  I read  for  certain  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Por.  It  is  almost  morning ; 

And  yet,  I am  sure,  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full.  Let  us  go  in, 

And  charge  us  there  upon  inter’gatories, 

And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Exeunt  slowly  into  house  as  curtain  falls , Portia  between 
Bassanio  and  Antonio,  Gratiano  and  Nerissa,  Lor- 
enzo and  Jessica,  following. 


CURTAIN. 


RING  slow  curtain* 


BAKER’S  PLAYS  OF  DISTINCTION 


A COUPLE  OF  MILLION.  Comedy  in  Four  Acts. 
By  W.  B.  Hare.  6 m.,  5 w.  Scenery,  2 ints.  and  an  ex. 
Plays  a full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Bemis  Ben- 
nington is  left  two  million  dollars  by  his  uncle  on  condi- 
tion that  he  shall  live  for  one  year  in  a town  of  less 
than  five  thousand  inhabitants  and  during  that  period 
marry  and  earn  without  other  assistance  than  his  own 
industry  and  ability  the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars. 
Failing  to  accomplish  this  the  money  goes  to  one  Pro- 
fessor Noah  Jabb.  This  is  done  despite  the  energetic 
opposition  of  Jabb,  who  puts  up  a very  interesting  fight. 
Plenty  of  good  comedy  and  a great  variety  of  good 
parts,  full  of  opportunity.  Price,  35  Cents. 

% ^PRESSING  WILLIE.  A Comedy  in  Three  Acts. 
By  Rachel  Crothers.  6 m.,  5 w.  2 easy  interior  sets. 
Plays  a full  evening.  Here  is  a play  pronounced  by 
most  critics  as  one  of  the  best  offerings  of  the  1924 
season  in  New  York.  It  ran  continuously  for  ten 
months  on  Broadway,  and  three  road  companies  are 
now  touring  the  United  States  with  it.  One  reviewer 
says : “ It  is  a penetrating  and  comic  play.”  Another : 
“ Seriously,  play  and  performance  were  of  the  finest 
texture.”  A third:  “ She  (Miss  Crothers)  has  written 
a charming  and  exquisite  comedy  which  has  a potent 
appeal  to  the  agile  witted.”  There  are  scores  of  such 
commendations  but  why  go  on  ? “ The  play’s  the 

thing.”  The  plot  is  written  with  the  skill  of  an  author 
who  understands  human  nature,  a keen  satirist,  and 
above  all  a dramatist  born  and  bred.  It  is  a comedy  to 
satisfy  the  fastidious.  Miss  Crothers  takes  a shrewd, 
gentle,  but  distinct  rap  at  some  of  the  foolish  foibles  of 
the  supersatisfied  and  self-exploiting  coterie  easily  rec- 
ognized and  skillfully  parodied.  It  would  be  unfair  in 
this  brief  description  to  give  away  the  idea  of  the  plot. 
To  prospective  producers  the  title  itself  has  a tremen- 
dous advertising  value.  It  is  now  for  the  first  time  re- 
leased for  amateur  and  Little  Theatre  production  under 
the  reduced  Royalty  of  $25.00  for  each  showing. 

Price,  75  Cents. 


BAKER'S  PLAYS  OF  DISTINCTION 


IT  HAPPENED  IN  JUNE.  A Dramatic  Comedy  in 
Three  Acts.  By  Eugene  G.  Hafer.  4 m.,  5 w.  1 single 
easy  int.  Plays  a full  evening.  Here  is  a play,  written 
by  the  author  of  “ Take  My  Advice,”  that  most  dra- 
matic clubs,  churches  and  schools  will  welcome  with 
open  arms.  It  is  a scrupulously  clean  comedy  with 
snappy  dialogue,  brisk  action,  and  an  unusually  interest- 
ing story.  The  action  leads  to  a strong  climax  in  each 
act.  If  you  like  comedy,  you  will  find  it  in  abundance, 
relieved  by  an  occasional  touch  of  pathos.  Charlie  At- 
kins is  sent  by  an  irate  parent  to  the  little  village  of 
Shady  Grove  to  be  kept  out  of  mischief  and  tamed 
down.  Incidentally  an  uncle,  who  owns  a large  chain 
of  grocery  stores,  delegates  him  to  force  a rival  store  in 
the  village,  the  Shady  Grove  Store,  out  of  business. 
Charlie  arrives  in  the  village,  meets  Betty  Bronson  and 
promptly  falls  in  love  with  her.  Imagine  his  discom- 
fiture when  he  learns  that  Betty  is  the  girl  delegated  to 
superintend  the  taming.  Then  to  his  horrified  dismay 
he  finds  that  Betty  owns  the  Shady  Grove  Store — the 
store  he  has  been  sent  to  force  out  of  business.  Charlie 
and  Betty  are  fine  leads.  You’ll  laugh  at  energetic 
Randy  and  coy  Susie’s  love  affairs;  you’ll  roar  at  lazy 
old  Jim  Pritchett’s  attempts  to  court  Mollie  Jessop,  cook 
for  the  Bronsons.  You’ll  cordially  hate  old  Jarvis 
Sneed,  and  you’ll  promptly  take  impish  little  Nell  Crun- 
del  right  to  your  heart.  Royalty  for  first  performance, 
$10.00;  for  each  additional,  $5.00.  Price,  35  Cents. 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  KITTY.  Farce  in  Three  Acts. 
By  N.  L.  Swartout.  5 m.,  4 w.  Scenery,  1 int.  Plays 
a full  evening.  Bobbie  Baxter,  pursuing  his  little  love 
affair  with  Jane  against  the  opposition  of  her  uncle, 
William  Winkler,  has  occasion  to  disguise  himself  in 
female  costume  and  is  taken  for  Kitty,  an  actress  and 
close  friend  of  Winkler,  to  the  vast  confusion  of  every- 
thing and  everybody.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Price,  60  Cents. 
“ ‘ The  Arrival  of  Kitty  ’ is  as  funny  as  ‘ Charley’s 
Aunt,’ — funnier  in  many  places.” — From  the  Toledo 
Blade . 


BAKER’S  PLAYS  OF  DISTINCTION 


“ THE  BANTAM  V.  C.”  By  Harold  Brighouse, 
Author  of  “ Hobson’s  Choice/’  etc.  A Farce  in  Three 
Acts.  6 m.,  5 w.  Plays  a full  evening.  2 easy  ints. 
“ The  Bantam  V.  C.”  is  the  small  and  dapper  Kittering. 
The  Victoria  Cross  has  been  thrust  upon  him  for  his 
personal  bravery  at  the  Front,  but  he  isn’t  brave  with 
women — women  scare  him  stiff.  He’d  rather  meet  a 
shell  than  a shop  girl.  Kittering  won’t  admit  his  shy- 
ness and  bluffingly  boasts  to  his  friends  that  he’s  a 
“ devil  of  a lad.”  Tommy  Ludlow  and  Bill  Farrimona 
frame  up  an  extraordinary  plot  to  test  him.  They  taunt 
him  for  his  shyness  until  Kittering,  driven  to  despera- 
tion, proposes  to  demonstrate  to  their  satisfaction  that 
he’s  the  gayest  kind  of  a gay  dog.  The  devices — in  a 
class  by  themselves — by  which  the  sly  as  well  as  shy 
“Bantam  V.  C.”  outwits,  baffles  and  flabbergasts  his  in- 
credulous friends,  are  the  making  of  something  unique 
in  farces.  Easy  to  produce.  All  parts  good.  Full  of 
action.  A professional  success.  Royalty,  $25.00. 

Price,  75  Cents. 

BY  GEORGE.  A Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By  J.  C. 
McMullen.  7 m.,  6 w.  Simple  int.  setting.  Plays  2 
hours.  George  and  Margaret  Brackton,  after  twenty- 
five  years  of  struggling,  find  themselves  in  a position  to 
build  the  home  of  their  dreams.  They  move  into  their 
new  home  and  then  decide  to  give  a house  party  to 
their  friends  of  college  days.  The  friends  arrive  and 
the  Bracktons’  troubles  commence.  The  guests  include 
a noted  actress,  a hypochondriac,  a tired  business  man,  a 
federal  agent,  a man  who  has  been  a traitor  to  his  gov- 
ernment, a budding  playwright,  a petty  thief,  and  a pair 
of  lovers.  The  resultant  chaos  is  left  to  the  imagina- 
tion. While  the  play  is  a comedy,  it  has  many  dramatic 
touches  and  there  is  a strong  vein  of  patriotism  running 
through  it.  As  in  all  of  Mr.  McMullen’s  plays  the 
parts  are  of  equal  importance  and  the  setting  is  simple. 
The  play  proved  very  successful  in  the  hands  of  the 
Cardinal  Players  of  Los  Angeles  for  whom  it  was 
written.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Price,  35  Cents, 


BAKER’S  PLAYS  OF  DISTINCTION 


BACK  HOME  AGAIN.  Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By 
Clara  B.  Orwig.  4 m.,  3 w.  Scene,  2 easy  ints.  Plays 
a full  evening.  Roger  Sheldon,  juvenile  lead,  returns 
to  his  old  home  in  Oldport,  to  settle  his  grandfather's 
estate.  Contrary  to  prevailing  opinion,  the  old  gentle- 
man seems  to  have  left  but  a small  estate  and  this  is 
bequeathed  to  young  Roger  along  with  a deathbed  note : 
“ Remember  the  S.  D.”  The  unraveling  of  the  mystery 
centering  around  this  message  makes  one  of  the  best 
acting  plays  of  the  year.  There  are  rich  possibilities 
for  character  work  in  the  persons  of  Phineas  Gardner, 
a shyster  lawyer;  his  wife,  a meek  old  lady;  Jerusha 
Bascom,  the  Sheldon  housekeeper;  Seth  Pittman,  an 
old  cabinet  maker;  and  the  auctioneer  who  has  a small 
part  but  a good  one.  The  pretty  love  story  of  Marcia 
Bartlett  (leading  woman)  and  Roger,  runs  trippingly 
through  the  plot  and  permeates  the  play  with  the  fresh- 
ness of  a day  in  June.  Here  is  a play  of  professional 
worth  but  written  with  the  needs  of  amateurs  fully  in 
mind.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Price,  50  Cents. 

SUNSHINE.  A Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By  Walter 
Ben  Hare.  4 m.,  7 w.  Scene,  a simple  ex.,  easily  ar- 
ranged with  a small  lot  of  potted  plants  and  rustic 
furniture.  The  story  leads  the  audience  a merry  chase 
from  snappy  farce  to  real  drama  with  just  a flavor  of 
the  melodramatic  which  modern  audiences  find  so 
pleasing.  Here  we  find  a great  character  part  in  a 
popular  baseball  hero  who  succeeds  in  making  a “ home 
run  ” in  more  ways  than  one,  a wonderful  leading  lady 
role  in  the  part  of  Mary,  a hypochondriac  who  finds 
his  medicine  most  pleasant  to  the  taste,  an  old  maid  who 
mourns  the  loss  of  her  parrot  and  a pert  little  girl  with 
an  exuberance  of  spirit  that  will  keep  the  audience  on 
its  mettle.  The  Major  is  a character  of  great  possi- 
bilities and  in  the  hands  of  a capable  actor  much  can  be 
made  of  it.  We  cannot  recommend  too  highly  this 
play  written  by  an  author  with  scores  of  successes  be- 
hind him  and  not  a single  failure.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

Price.  50  Cent& 


NEW  PLAYS  AND  BOOKS 

Season  1925 


TOP  LINERS— FOR  STUNT  NIGHT  AND  VOD-VIL 

By  Arthur  LeRoy  Kaser 


A new  and  original  collection  of  “some  of  this  and  some  of 
that" — concocted  by  a specialist  in  the  vaudeville  field,  for 
the  use  of  either  the  amateur  or  professional  entertainer,,  The 
contents  include  four  hilarious  monologues — four  guaranteed 
success  one-act  vaudeville  skits — several  pages  of  street 
chatter,  including  many  rhymes  and  jingles — a wealth  of 
minstrel  cross-fire  with  fill-in  bits  of  digs  and  jabs,  and  thirty- 
eight  stories  for  the  story  teller.  The  longer  sketches  as  well 
as  the  monologues  have  been  so  arranged  that  specialties  may 
easily  be  introduced.  The  shorter  articles  such  as  “Rhymes 
and  Jingles,"  “Street  Chatter."  “The  Monologist  and  Hi & 
Newspaper,"  etc.,  can  be  easily  used  as  insertions  m almost 
any  form  of  monologue  or  cross-fire  talking  act.  The  minstrel 
cross-fire  is  of  the  modern  type  and  utilizable  wherever 
minstrel  end  men  jokes  are  required.  The  collection  is  worth 
many  times  the  price  to  the  director  who  is  in  search  of  stuff 
that  has  not  been  worn  threadbare.  Bound  in  attractive  art 


covers. 


Price,  75  cents. 


UNCLE  JOSH  STORIES 


By  Cal  Stewart 


Cal  Stewart,  who  gave  to  millions  of  his  admirers  that 
kindly  old  rural  philosopher  and  humorist.  “Uncle  Josh."  has 
“passed  over.1*  The  humor  of  Cal  Stewart  is  like  a draft  of 
sweet  cool  air  in  a hot,  stuffy  room.  For  years,  hearts  have 
been  made  lighter,  homes  have  been  made  happier,  and 
troubles  have  been  borne  away  on  the  wings  of  his  hearty 
laughter.  This  collection,  the  first  of  the  “Uncle  Josh  Stories,9 
promises  xo  oea  pronnc  source  or  enxerxamment  xo  miilions 
of  people  and  in  no  better  way  can  Stewart’s  cheerful,  old- 
fashioned  humor  be  better  preserved.  “Uncle  Josh"  can  get 
into  more  pesky  predicaments  than  any  other  male  critter* 
Read  any  one  of  the  thirty  or  more  selections  and  we  guar- 
antee that  first  you'll  chuckle,  then  you’ll  giggle,  then  you’ll 
burst  into  a big  laugh,  hearty  and  unashamed.  Stewart’s 
knowledge  of  life,  which  he  so  humorously  portrays  in  these 
readings,  comes  from  his  varied  experiences  as  a stage-coach 
driver,  a locomotive  engineer,  and  an  actor.  His  philosophy1 
of  life  is  “I’d  sooner  tell  Peter  on  the  last  day  about  the  laffs 
I’ve  given  folks  on  earth,  than  try  to  explain  about  givin’  them 
heart  akes."  Bound  in  substantial  art  covers  at  75  cents  per 
copy. 


Send  for  a Copy  of  our  New  Free  Catalogue . 

It  Describes  More  Than  a Thousand  Plays . 

.BAKER’S  PLAYS.  BOSTON.  MASS. 


NEW  PLAYS  AND  BOOKS 

— — Season  1925 


AMAZON  ISLE 


By  Frederick  G.  Johnson 


. A Joyous  farce  of  gay  adventure,  in  three  acts.  Six  males. 

fllV  TPmfl  M Qnrl  onv  nnmkn.  X 1_  n 


• r*  J i j in  i/iiiee  dots,  o ix  males, 

six  females,  and  any  number  of  extra  people.  Scenery,  o^te 

1 H rPfl OT  find  nno  ovf ow n.  x* - 1 1 a i ’ 

» ho 


. . ' ~ Vi  cAwa  pcuj;ic.  oueiiory,  Oxie 

interior  and  one  exterior.  Playing  time  about  two  hours. 
A perfect  blend  of  laughter  and  excitement.  A Chart  show- 
ing where  pirate  treasure  is  buried  is  mysteriously  stolen  from 
Jack,  and  he  and  his  sweetheart  Rose  learn  that  it  has  equally 
mysteriously  come  into  her  father’s  possession.  Not  only 

rlmr.  hnf  fho  nM  oonf  x 1 ^ r . 


that,  but  the  old  gent  is  fitting  out  his  yacht  for  a'cniise  to 
the  South  Sea  Islands.  Determined  i J ’ * 


r“"  ~r  ^^uwuuucJ  not  only  to  win  the  girl, 

but  the  treasure  as  well,  despite  her  father’s  bitter  opposition. 
Jack  hurls  a ringing  defi  in  his  teeth— and  then  the  chase 
begins.  How  the  opposing  factions  reach  the  island  of  tom- 
toms and  wild  women,  how  they  are  received  by  the  Amazon 
queen  and  her  strange  tribe  of  female  savages,  how  they 

hazard  lifa  itself  m fVw*  ~~i ^ i ; i ▼ r 


1 i • r • . 1 r - , xcxuaic  aavagcs,  I 

hazard  life  itself  in  the  quest  for  gold  and  jewels,  how  Jack 
appears  as  if  from  the  grave,  how  the  coveted  hoard ; 


uuw  tue  uuveiea  noara  at  length 
reveals  itself,  and  how — -of  course — Jack  forces  old  Cyrus  to 
fay,  -Bless  you,  my  children,  ” make  up  an  evening  of  real 
thrills,  presented  in  hilariously  funny  fashion.  ‘‘Amazon 
Isle  is  a roaring  farce,  mixed  of  the  laugh  ingredients  known 


as  sure-fire.  It  gives  unusual  opportunity  for  colorful  stag 

oducing  a fi  


» 7i-,,r  ® iur  uuiunui  svag* 

Iug  a x tle  or  ino  .exPense»  introducing  a funny  dress  ball  in 
the  farst  act  and  a band  of  Amazon  savages  later,  thus  admit- 
ting any  number  of  extra  people  as  well  as  the  twelve  prin- 
cipals. Speaking  parts  are  all  good.  Cast  includes  blackface 
comedian,  rube  comedian,  rube  soubrette,  and  others,  in 
addition  to  the  leads.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  this 
play  averages  a laugh  every  twenty  seconds.  Royalty  $10.00 
for  each  performance.  Pric  3,  50  cents. 


SIX  ORIENTAL  OPERETTAS  By  Laura  E.  Richards 


These  six  little  operettas  were  written  ter  a boy’s  camp  but 
aa  j j equally  well  in  home. or  school.  No  scenery  is 

needed.  Change  of  scene  may  be  indicated  by  an  inscription 
on  blackboard  or  oaneri  “A  RohbprNa  Korn n-  aooiLr 


on  blackboard  or  paper;  “A  foobbe?s“' Cavern” bring  easily 
transformed  into  the  “King’s  Palace.”  The  lines  are  clever 


i r t : . — r,  * ai°^.  -me  are  uiever 

and  of  the  sort  to  throw  the  story  to  the  audience  with  a 
ringing  success.  The  tunes  are  simple  and  familiar  and  may, 
for  the  most  part,  be  found  in  any  general  collection  of  popular 
songs.  If  the  characters  are  not  able  to  carry  a tune,  the 
parts  may  be  spoken.  The  first  opera  is  timely  in  view  of  the 
Journalistic  interest  in  all  things  Egyptian.  Contents:  “A 
Royal  Wooing,*'  or  “The  Wedding  of  Tut-Ankh-Amen 
Abou  Hassan  the  Wag,”  “Pretty  Perilla,”  “Aladdin,”  “The 
Enchanted  Birds,  * “The  Statue  Prince.”  To  our  customers 
who  have  used  Mrs.  Richards  first  book,  “Eight  Fairy  Operas 
we  have  no  hesitancy  in  saying  that  this  present  volume  is  a 
worthy  successor.  Price,  40  cents. 


BAKER’S  PLAYS.  BOSTON.  MASS. 


0* 


[Price  3 Cents. 


MUCH  ADO 

ABOUT  NOTHING. 

BY 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


NEW  YOKE: 

AMERICAN  BOOK  EXCHANGE, 
Tribune  Buildi ng . 

1880.  9j^td 


i 


* 


/J-5 


MUCH  ADO 


ABOUT  lSTOTHUSTO. 

W\ 


’ 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING-, 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Don  Pedro,  prince  of  Arragon. 
Don  John,  h:s  bastard  brother. 
Claudio,  a young  lord  < f Florence. 
Benedick,  a younglordof  Padua. 
Leonato,  governor  of  Mnssina. 
Antonio,  his  brother. 

Balthasar,  attendant  on  Don 
Pedro. 

BorachS,  J‘  followers  of  Don  John. 
Friar  Francis. 

Dogberry,  a constable. 


Verges,  a headborough. 
A sexton. 

A Boy. 


TIeto,  daughter  to  Leonato. 
Beatrice,  niece  to  Leonato. 
Margaret,  ) gentlewomen  at- 
Ursula,  j tending  on  Hero. 

Messengers,  Watch,  Attendants, 
&c. 


Scene  : Messina. 

ACT  I. 


Scene  I.  Before  Lenato’s  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  Hero,  and  Beatrice,  with  a Messenger. 

Leon.  I learn  in  this  letter  that  Don  Peter  of  Arragon 
comes  this  night  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  near  by  this  : he  was  not  three  leagues 
off  when  I left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  this  action  ? 

Mess.  But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.  A victory  is  twice  itself  when  the  achiever  brings 
home  full  numbers.  I find  here  that  Don  Peter  hath  be- 
stowed much  honour  on  a young  Florentine  called  Claudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserved  on  his  part  and  equally  remembered 
by  Don  Pedro  : he  hath  borne  himself  beyond  the  promise 
of  his  age,  doing,  in  the  figure  of  a lamb,  the  feats  of  a 
lion  : he  hath  indeed  better  bettered  expectation  than  you 
must  expect  of  me  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very 
much  glad  of  it. 

Mess,  I have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and  there  ap* 

(2) 


SCENE  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


8 


pears  much  jov  in  him  ; even  so  much  that  joy  could  not 
show  itself  modest  enough  without  a badge  of  bitterness. 

Leon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess.  In  great  measure. 

Leon.  A kind  overflow  of  kindness  : there  are  no  faces 
truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How  much  better  is 
it  to  weep  at  joy  than  to  joy  at  weeping  ! 

Beat.  I pray  you,  is  Signior  Mountanto  returned  from 
the  wars  or  no  ? 81 

Mess.  I know  none  of  that  name,  lady  : there  was  none 
such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece  ? 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  Signior  Benedick  of  Padua. 

Mess.  O,  lie’s  returned  ; and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina  and  challenged 
Cupid  at  the  flight  ; and  my  uncle’s  fool,  reading  the  chal- 
lenge, subscribed  for  Cupid,  and  challenged  him  at  tlio 
bird-bolt.  I pray  you,  how  many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten 
in  these  wars?  But  how  many  hath  he  killed  ? for  indeed 
I promised  to  eat  all  of  his  killing. 

Leon.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  Signior  Benedick  too  much  ; 
but  he’ll  be  meet  with  you,  I doubt  it  not. 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these  wars. 

Beat.  You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  liolp  to  eat  it : 
he  is  a very  valiant  trenclier-man  ; he  hath  an  excellent 
stomach. 

Mess.  And  a good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a good  soldier  to  a lady  : but  what  is  he  to  a 
lord? 

Mess.  A lord  to  a lord,  a man  to  a man  ; stuffed  with  all 
honourable  virtues. 

Beat  It  is  so.  indeed  ; he  is  no  less  than  a stuffed  man  : 
bui  for  the  stuffing,  -well,  we  are  all  mortal.  GO 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir.  mistake  my  niece.  There  is  a 
kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signior  Benedick  and  her  : they 
never  meet  but  there’s  a skirmish  of  wit  between  them. 

Beat.  Alas  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last  con- 
flic  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and  now  is  the 
whole  man  governed  with  one : so  that  if  he  have  wit 
enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him  bear  it  for  a differ- 
ence between  himself  and  his  horse  ; for  it  is  all  the  wealth 
tli a;  he  hath  left,  to  be  known  a reasonable  creature.  Who 
is  his  companion  now?  He  hath  every  month  a new  sworn 
brother. 

Mess.  Is’t  possible  ? 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible  : he  wears  his  faith  but  as  the 
fashion  of  his  hat ; it  ever  changes  with  the  next  block. 


4 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  I. 

Mess.  I see,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your  books. 

Beat.  No ; an  he  were,  I would  burn  my  study.  But  I 
pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ? Is  there  no  young  squar- 
er  now  that  will  make  a voyage  with  him  to  the  devil  ? 

Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right  noble 
Claudio. 

Beat.  O Lord,  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a disease  : he 
is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence,  and  the  taker  runs 
presently  mad.  God  help  the  noble  Claudio  ! if  he  have 
caught  the  Benedick,  it  will  cost  him  a thousand  pound  ere 
a’  be  cured.  90 

Mess.  I will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.  Do,  good  friend. 

Leon.  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a hot  January. 

Mesa.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and 
Balthasar. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  Signior  Leonato,  you  are  come  to  meet 
your  trouble:  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to  avoid  cost,  and 
you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the  likeness  of 
your  grace  : for  trouble  being  gone,  comfort  should  remain  ; 
but  when  you  depart  from  me,  sorrow  abides  and  happiness 
takes  his  leave. 

D.  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  too  willingly.  I 
think  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon.  Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  you  asked  her? 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ; for  then  were  vou  a child. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full,  Benedick  : we  may  guess  by 
this  what  you  are,  being  a man.  Truly,  the  lady  fathers 
herself.  Be  happy,  lady  ; for  you  are  like  an  honourable 
father. 

Bene.  If  Signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would  not 
have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all  Messina,  as  like  him 
as  she  is. 

Beat.  I wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  Signior 
Benedick  ; nobody  marks  you. 

Bene.  Wliat,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain  ! are  you  yet  living? 

Beat.  Is  it  possible  disdain  should  die  while  she  hath 
such  meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Signior  Benedick?  Courtesy 
itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  if  you  come  in  her  presence. 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a turncoat.  But  it  is  certain  I 
am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  : and  I would  I 


SCENE  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  5 

could  find  in  my  heart  that  I had  not  a hard  heart  ; for, 
truly,  I love  none. 

Beat.  A dear  happiness  to  women  : they  would  else  have 
been  troubled  with  a pernicious  suitor.  I thank  God  and 
my  cold  blood,  I am  of  your  humour  for  that  : I had  rather 
hear  my  dog  bark  at  a crow  than  a man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  ! so 
some  gentleman  or  other  shall  ’scape  a predestinate 
scratched  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an  ’twere  such 
a face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a rare  parrot -teacher.  140 

Beat.  A bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a beast  of  yours. 

Bene.  I would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your  tongue, 
and  so  good  a continuer.  But  keep  your  way,  i’  God’s 
name  ; I have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a jade’s  trick  : I know  you 
of  old. 

D.  Pedro.  That  is  the  sum  of  all,  Leonato.  Signior 
Claudio  and  Signior  Benedick,  my  dear  friend  Leonato  hath 
invited  you  all.  I tell  him  wc  shall  stay  here  at  the  least 
a month  ; and  he  heartily  prays  some  occasion  may  detain 
us  longer.  I dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite,  but  prays  from 
his  heart. 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be  forsworn. 
[To  Don  John ] Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord  : being 
reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I owe  you  all  duty. 

D.  John.  I thank  you  : I am  not  of  many  words,  but  I 
thank  you. 

Leon.  Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ? 160 

* D.  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato  ; we  will  go  together. 

[Exeunt  all  except  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter  of  Signior 
Leonato  ? 

Bene.  I noted  her  not ; but  I looked  on  her. 

Claud.  Is  she  not  a modest  young  lady  ? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man  should  do, 
for  my  simple  true  judgement ; or  would  you  have  me  speak 
after  my  custom,  as  being  a professed  tyrant  to  their  sex  ? 

Claud.  No  ; I pray  thee  speak  in  sober  judgement.  171 

Bene.  Why,  i’  faith,  me  thinks  she’s  too  low  for  a high 
praise,  too  brown  for  a fair  praise  and  too  little  for  a great 
praise  : only  this  commendation  I can  afford  her,  that  were 
she  other  than  she  is,  she  were  unhandsome  ; and  being  no 
other  but  as  she  is,  I do  not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  tliinkest  I am  in  sport : I pray  thee  tell  me 
truly  how  thou  likest  her.  _ 180 


6 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  i. 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after  her  ? 
Claud.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a jewel  ? 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a case  to  put  it  into.  But  speak  you  this 
with  a sad  brow?  or  do  you  play  the  flouting  Jack,  to  tell 
us  Cupid  is  a good  liare-finder  and  Vulcan  a rare  carpenter? 
Come,  in  what  key  shall  a man  take  you,  to  go  in  the 
song  ? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever  I 
looked  on.  190 

Bene.  I can  see  yet  without  spectacles  and  I see  no  such 
matter  : there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not  possessed  with 
a fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in  beauty  as  the  first  of  May 
does  the  last  of  December.  But  I hope  you  have  no  intent 
to  turn  husband,  have  you? 

Claud.  I would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I had  sworn 
the  contrarv,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is’t  come  to  this?  In  faith,  hath  not  the  world 
one  man  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  suspicion  ? Shall  I 
never  see  a bachelor  of  three  score  again  ? Go  to,  i’  faith  ; 
an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy  neck  into  a yoke,  wear  the 
print  of  it  and  sigh  away  Sundays.  Look  ; Don  Pedro  is 
returned  to  seek  you. 

Re-Enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro.  What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that  you  fol- 
lowed not  to  Leonato’s  ? 

Bene.  I would  your  grace  would  constrain  me  to  tell. 

D.  Pedro.  I charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear,  Count  Claudio  • I can  be  secret  as  a 
dumb  man  ; I would  have  you  think  so  ; but,  on  my  alle- 
giance, mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance.  lie  is  in  love. 
With  who?  now  that  is  your  grace’s  part.  Mark  how 
short  his  answer  is  ; — With  Hero,  Leohato’  < short  daughter. 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered. 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord  • “ it  is  not  so,  nor  ’tv as 
not  so,  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should  be  so.”  220 

Claud.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God  forbid  it 
should  be  otherwise. 

D.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her  ; for  the  lady  is  very 
well  worthy. 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in*  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  I speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And,  in  faith,  my  lord,  I spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my  lord,  I spoke 
mine. 

Claud . That  I love  her,  I feel.  230 

D . Pedro.  That  she  is  worthy,  I know. 


SCENE  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


7 


Bene.  That  I neither  feel  how  she  should  he  loved  nor 
know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the  opinion  that  fire 
cannot  melt  out  of  me  : 1 will  die  in  it  at  the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in  the  de- 
spite of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part  but  in  the 
force  of  his  will. 

Berte.  That  a woman  conceived  me,  I thank  her  ; that 
she  brought  me  up,  I likewise  give  her  most  humble  thanks  : 
but  that  I will  have  a recheat  wfinded  in  my  forehead,  or  hang 
my  bugle  in  an  invisible  baldrick,  all  women  shall  pardon 
me.  Because  I will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust  ar  y, 
I will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none  ; and  the  fine  is,  foi 
the  which  1 may  go  the  finer,  I will  live  a bachelor. 

D.  Pedro.  I shall  see  thee,  ere  I die,  look  pale  with  love. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger,  my 
lord,  not  with  love  : prove  that  ever  I lose  more  blood  with 
love  than  I will  get  again  with  drinking,  pick  out  mine  eyes 
with  a ballad-maker’s  pen  and  bang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a 
brothel-house  for  the  sign  of  blind  Cupid. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this  faith, 
thou  wilt  prove  a notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I do  hang  me  in  a bottle  like  a cat  and  shoot  at 
me  ; and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  called  Adam.  261 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try  : 

“ In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke.” 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may  ; but  if  ever  the  sensible 
Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull’s  horns  and  set  them 
in  my  forehead  : and  let  me  be  vilely  painted,  and  in  such 
great  letters  as  they  write  “ Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,”  let 
them  signify  under  my  sign  “ Here  you  may  see  Benedick 
the  married  man.”  270 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  wouldst  be  horn- 
mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his  quiver  in 
Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  til's  shortly. 

Bene.  I look  for  an  earthquake  too,  then. 

JD.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  writh  the  hours.  In 
the  meantime,  good  Signior  Benedick,  repair  to  Leonato's  : 
commend  me  to  him  and  tell  him  I will  not  fail  him  at  sup- 
per ; tor  indeed  he  hath  made  great  preparation.  280 

Bene.  I have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such  an 
embassage  ; and  so  I commit  you — - 

Cloud.  To  the  tuition  of  God  : From  my  house,  if  I had 

it,— 

JO*  Pedro . Thesisthof  July;  Your lovingfnend?  Benedick. 


8 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  l 


Bene . Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not.  The  body  of  your  dis- 
course is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments,  and  the  guards 
are  but  slightly  basted  on  neither : ere  you  flout  old  ends 
any  further,  examine  your  conscience  : and  so  I leave  you. 

[Exit.  291 

Claud.  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me  good. 

D.  Pedro.  My  love  is  thine  to  teach  : teach  it  but  how. 
And  thou  slialt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.  Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  ? 

B.  Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero  ; she’s  his  only  heir. 

Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  0,  my  lord, 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 

I look’d  upon  her  with  a soldier’s  eye,  300 

That  liked,  but  had  a rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  : 

But  now  I am  return’d  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires, 

All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 

Saying,  I liked  her  ere  I went  to  wars. 

B.  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  a lover  presently 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a book  of  words. 

If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it,  310 

And  I will  break  with  her  and  with  her  father 
And  thou  shalt  have  her.  Was’t  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began’st  to  twist  so  fine  a story  ? 

Claud.  How  sweetly  you  do  minister  to  love, 

That  know  love’s  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 

But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 

I would  have  salved  it  with  a longer  treatise. 

B.  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader  than  the 
flood? 

The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessi^v. 

Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit : ’tis  once,  thou  lovest,  320 
And  I will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 

I know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night  : 

I will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise 
And  tell  fair  Hero  1 am  Claudio, 

And  in  her  bosom  I’ll  unclasp  my  heart 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale  ; 

Then  after  to  her  father  will  I break  ; 

And  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine. 

In  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.  [Exeunt,  330 


SCENE  HI.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  9 

Scene  II.  A room  in  Leonato’s  home. 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  meeting. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  ! Where  is  my  cousin,  your 
son  ? hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 

Ant.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I can  tell 
you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamt  not  of. 

Leon.  Are  they  good  ? 

Ant.  As  the  event  stamps  them  : but  they  have  a good 
cover ; they  show  well  outward.  The  prince  and  Count 
Claudio,  walking  in  a thick- pleached  alley  in  mine  orchard, 
were  thus  much  overheard  by  a man  of  mine  : the  prince 
discovered  to  Claudio  that  he  loved  my  niece  your  daughter 
and  meant  to  acknowledge  it  this  night  in  a dance  ; and  if 
he  found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take  the  present  time 
by  the  top  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit  that  told  you  this  ? 

Ant.  A good  sharp  fellow  : I will  send  for  him  ; and 
question  him  yourself.  20 

Leon.  No,  no  ; we  will  hold  it  as  a dream  till  it  appear 
itself  : but  I will  acquaint  my  daughter  withal,  that  she 
may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an  answer,  if  perad venture 
this  be  true.  Go  you  and  tell  her  of  it.  [ Enter  Attendants.  ] 
Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  O,  I cry  you 
mercy,  friend  ; go  you  with  me,  and  I will  use  your  skill. 
Good  cousin,  have  a care  this  busy  time.  [Exeunt. 

Scene.  III.  The  same. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  What  the  good-year,  my  lord  ! why  are  you  thus 
out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D.  John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that  breeds  ; 
therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

D.  John.  And  when  I have  heard  it,  what  blessing  brings 
it? 

Con.  If  not  a present  remedy,  at  least  a patient  sufferance. 

D.  John.  I wonder  that  thou,  being,  as  thou  savest  thou 
art,  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a moral  medi- 
cine to  a mortifying  mischief.  I cannot  hide  what  I am  : I 
must  be  sad  when  I have  cause  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests, 
eat  when  I have  stomach  and  wait  for  no  man’s  leisure, 
sleep  when  I am  drowsy  and  tend  on  no  man’s  business, 
laugh  when  I am  merry  and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show  of  this 


10  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  I. 

till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment.  You  have  of  lato 
stood  out  against  your  brother,  and  lie  hath  ta’en  you  newly 
into  his  grace  ; where  it  is  impossible  you  should*  take  true 
root  but  by  the  fair  weather  that  you  make  yourself : it  is 
needful  that  you  frame  the  season  for  your  own  harvest. 

D.  John.  I had  rather  be  a canker  in  a hedge  than  a rose 
in  his  grace,  and  it  better  fits  my  blood  to  be  disdained  of  all 
than  to  fashion  a carriage  to  rob  love  from  any  : in  this, 
though  I cannot  be  said  to  be  a flattering  honest  man,  it  must 
not  be  denied  but  1 am  a plain-dealing  villain.  I am  trusted 
with  a muzzle  and  enfranchised  with  a clog  ; therefore  I 
have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I had  my  mouth, 
I would  bite  ; if  I had  my  liberty,  I would  do  my  liking  : in 
the  meantime  let  me  be  that  I am  and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 

Con._  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 40 

1)  John.  I make  all  use  of  it,  for  I use  it  only. 

Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 

What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Bora.  I came  yonder  from  a great  supper  : the  prince 
your  brother  is  royally  entertained  by  Leonato  ; and  I can 
give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended  marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mischief 
on  ? Wliat  is  he  for  a fool  that  betroths  himself  to  unquiet- 
ness ? 50 

Bora.  Marry,  it  is  your  brother’s  right  hand. 

D.  John.  Who  ? the  most  exquisite  Claudio  ? 

Bora.  Even  he. 

I) .  John.  A proper  squire!  And  who,  and  who?  which 
way  looks  he  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of  Leonato. 

D.  John.  A very  forward  March-cliick  ! How  came  you 
to  this  ? 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a perfumer,  as  I was  smok- 
ing a musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince  and  Claudio,  hand 
in  hand,  ifi  sad  conference  : I whipt  me  behind  the  arras  ; 
and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon  that  the  prince  should  woo 
Hero  for  himself,  and  having  obtained  her,  give  her  to 
Count  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither  : this  may  prove 
food  to  mv  displeasure.  That  young  start-up  hath  all  the 
glory  of  my  overthrow  : if  I can  cross  him  any  way,  I bless 
myself  every  way.  You  are  both  sure,  and  will  assist  me  ? 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

J) ,  John . Let  us  to  the  great  supper : their  cheer  is  the 


SCENE  III.  J MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


11 


greater  that  I am  subdued.  Would  the  cook  were  of  my 
mind  ! Shall  we  go  prove  wliat’s  to  he  done  ? 

Bora.  We’ll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.  A MU  in  Leonato’s  house. 

' 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others. 

Leon.  Was  not  Count  John  here  at  supper? 

Ant.  I saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks  ! I never  can  see 
him  but  I am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man  that  were  made  just  in 
the  midway  between  him  and  Benedick  : the  one  is  too  like 
an  image  and  says  nothing,  and  the  other  too  like  my  lady’s 
eldest  son,  evermore  tattling.  11 

Leon.  Then  half  Signior  Benedick’s  tongue  in  Count  John’s 
mouth,  and  half  Count  John’s  melancholy  in  Signior  Bene- 
dick’s face, — 

Beat.  With  a good  leg  and  a good  foot,  uncle,  and  money 
enough  in  his  purse,  such  a man  would  win  any  woman  in 
the  world,  if  a’  could  get  her  good-will. 

Ijeon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee  a hus- 
band, if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue.  21 

Ant.  In  faith,  she’s  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst  : I shall  lessen  God’s 
sending  that  way  ; for  it  is  said,  ‘‘God  sends  a curst  cow 
sho:t  horns  but  to  a cow  too  curst  he  sends  none. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you  no  horns. 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband  ; for  the  which 
blessing  1 am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every  morning  and 
evening.  Lord,  I could  not  endure  a husband  with  a beard 
on  his  face  ; I had  rather  lie  in  the  woolen. 

Leon.  You  may  light,  on  a husband  that  hath  no  beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I do  with  him?  dress  him  in  my  ap- 
parel and  make  him  my  waiting-gentle-woman  ? He  that 
hatha  beard  is  more  than  a youth,  and  he  that  hath  no  beard 
is  less  than  a man  : and  he  that  is  more  than  a youth  is  not 
for  me,  and  he  that  is  le?s  than  a man,  I am  not  for  him  : 
therefore  I will  even  take  sixpence  in  earnest  of  the  bear- 
ward,  and  lead  his  apes  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well,  then,  go  you  into  hell? 

Beat.  No,  but  to  the  gate  ; and  there  will  the  devil  meet 
me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  ob  his  head,  and  say, 


12  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  ii. 

“ Get  you  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  get  you  to  heaven  : here’s  no 
place  for  you  maids  : ” so  deliver  I up  my  apes,  and  away  to 
Saint  Peter  for  the  heavens  ; he  shows  me  where  the  bach- 
elors sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long. 

Ant.  [To  Hero ] Well,  niece,  I trust  you  will  be  ruled  by 
your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith  ; it  is  my  cousin’s  duty  to  make  curtsy 
and  say  “ Father,  as  it  please  you.”  But  yet  for  all  that, 
cousin,  let  him  be  a handsome  fellow,  or  else  make  another 
curtsy  and  say  “Father,  as  it  please  me.” 

Leon.  Weil,  niece,  I hope  to  see  you  one  day  fitted  with  a 
husband.  01 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal  than 
earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a woman  to  be  overmastered 
with  a piece  of  valiant  dust  ? to  make  an  account  of  her 
life  to  a clod  of  wayward  marl  ? No,  uncle,  I’ll  none  : 
Adam’s  sons  are  my  brethren  ; and,  truly,  I hold  it  a sin  to 
match  in  my  kindred. 

Leon.  Daughter,  remember  what  I told  you  : if  the  prince 
do  solicit  vou  in  that  kind,  you  know  your  answer.  71 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if  you  be  not 
wooed  in  good  time  : if  .the  prince  be  too  important,  tell  him 
there  is  measure  in  every  thing  and  so  dance  out  the  an- 
swer. For,  hear  me,  Hero  : wooing,  wedding,  and  repent- 
ing, is  as  a Scotch  jig,  a measure,  and  a cinque  pace  : the 
first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a Scotch  jig,  and  full  as  fan- 
tastical ; the  wedding,  mannerly-modest,  as  a measure,  full 
of  state  and  ancientry  ; and  then  comes  repentance  and, 
with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into  the  cinque  pace  faster  and  faster, 
till  he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I have  a good  eye,  uncle ; I can  see  a church  by 
daylight. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering,  brother  : make  good 
room.  [All  put  on  their  masks. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Balthasar,  Don 
John,  Borachio,  Margaret,  Ursula,  and  others , 
masked. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your  friend  ? 
Hero.  So  you  walk  softly  and  look  sweetly  and  say  noth- 
ing, I am  yours  for  the  walk  ; and  especially  when.  I walk 
away. 

D.  Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company  V 
Hero.  I may  say  so,  when  I please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 


scene  i.J  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


13 


Hero.  When  I like  your  favour  ; for  God  defend  the  lute 
should  be  like  the  case  ! 

D.  Pedro . My  visor  is  Philemon’s  roof  ; within  the  house 
is  Jove.  100 

Hero.  Why,  then,  your  visor  should  be  thatched. 

D.  Pedro . Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[ Drawing  her  aside. 

Bdlth.  Well,  I would  you  did  like  me. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake ; for  I have 
many  ill  qualities. 

Balth.  Which  is  one  ? 

Marg.  I say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Balth.  I love  you  the  better  : the  hearers  may  cry,  Amen. 

Marg.  God  match  me  with  a good  dancer  ! Ill 

Balth.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight  when  the  dance 
is  done  ! Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.  No  more  words  the  clerk  is  answered. 

ITrs.  I know  you  well  enough  ; you  are  Signior  Antonio. 

Ant.  At  a word,  I am  not. 

Ur s.  I know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head.  120 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill- well,  unless  you  were 
the  very  man.  Here’s  his  dry  hand  up  and  down  : you  are 
he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.  At  a word,  I am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come,  do  you  think  I do  not  know  you  by 
your  excellent  wit?  can  virtue  hide  itself?  Go  to,  mum, 
you  are  he  : graces  will  appear,  and  there’s  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so  ? 130 

Bene.  No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are? 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I was  disdainful,  and  that  I had  my  good  wit 
out  of  the  “ Hundred  Merry  Tales  : ” — well,  this  was  Signior 
Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.  What’s  he  ? 

Beat.  I am  sure  you  know  him  wejl  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ? 140 

Bene.  I pray  you,  what  is  he  ? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  tbe  prince’s  jester  : a very  dull  fool ; 
only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  : none  but 
libertines  delight  in  him  ; and  the  commendation  is  not  in 
his  wit,  but  in  his  villany  ; for  he  both  pleases  men  and 
angers  them,  and  then  they  laugh  at  him  and  beat  him.  I 
am  sure  he  is  in  the  fleet : I would  he  had  boarded  me. 


14 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  i L 


Bene . When  I know  the  gentleman,  111  tell  him  what 
you  say.  151 

Beat.  Do,  do  : hell  but  break  a comparison  or  two  on 
me  ; which,  peradventure  not  marked  or  not  laughed  at, 
strikes  him  into  melancholy  ; and  then  there’s  a partridge 
wing  saved,  for  the  fool  will  eat  no  supper  that  night. 
[Music.]  We  must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I will  leave  them  at 
the  next  turning.  160 

[Dance.  Then  exeunt  oil  except  Don  John 
Borachio , and  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Sure  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero  and  hath 
withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him  about  it.  The 
ladies  follow  her  and  but  one  visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  : I know  him  by  his  bearing. 

D.  John.  Are  not  you  Signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  You  know  me  well ; I am  he. 

D.  John.  Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in  his 
love  : he  is  enamoured  on  Hero  ; I pray  you,  dissuade  him 
from  her  : she  is  no  equal  for  his  birth  : you  may  do  the 
part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Claud.  How  know  you  he  loves  her? 

D.  John.  I heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Bora.  So  did  I too  ; and  he  swore  he  would  marry  her  to- 
night. 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

[Exeunt  Don  John  and  Borachio . 

Claud.  Thus  answer  I in  name  of  Benedick, 

But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio.  180 

'Tis  certain  so  ; the  prince  wooes  for  himself. 

Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 

Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : y 

Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues  ; 9 

Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself 

And  trust  no  agent ; for  beauty  is  a witch 

Against  whose  charms  faith  meltetli  into  blood. 

This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof, 

Which  I mistrusted  not.  Farewell,  therefore.  Hero  1 

Re-enter  Benedick. 

Bene . Count  Claudio  ? 190 

Claud . Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.  Come,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claud,  Whither? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own  business, 
county.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the  garland  of?  about 


15 


scene  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

your  neck,  like  an  usurer’s  chain?  or  under  your  arm,  like 
a lieutenant’s  scarf  V You  must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the 
prince  hath  got  your  Hero. 

Claud.  I wish  him  joy  of  her.  200 

Bene.  Why,  that’s  spoken  like  an  honest  drovier  : so 
they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think  the  prince  would 
have  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.  I pray  you,  leave  me? 

Bene.  Ho  ! now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  : ’twas  the 
boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you’ll  beat  the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  will  not  be,  I’ll  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl ! now  will  he  creep  into 
sedges.  But  that  my  Lady  Beatrice  should  know  me,  and 
not  know  me  ! The  prince’s  fool ! Ha?  It  may  be  I go 
under  that  title  because  I am  merry.  Yea,  but  so  I am  apt 
to  do  myself  wrong;  I am  not  so  reputed:  it  is  the  base, 
though  bitter,  disposition  of  Beatrice  that  puts  the  world 
into  her  person,  and  so  gives  me  out.  Well,  I’ll  be  revenged 
, as  I may. 

Be-enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  signior,  where’s  the  count?  did  you  see 
him? 

Bene . Troth,  my  lord,  I have  played  the  part  of  Lady 
Fame.  I found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a lodge  in  a 
warren  : I told  him,  and  I think  I told  him  true,  that  your 
grace  had  got  the  good  will  of  this  young  lady  ; and  I 
offered  him  my  company  to  a willow-tree,  either  to  make 
him  a garland,  as  being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a rod, 
as  being  worthy  to  be  whipped. 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped  ! What’s  his  fault  ? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a school -boy,  who,  being 
overjoyed  with  finding  a bird’s  nest,  shows  it  his  compan- 
ion, and  he  steals  it.  2 i0 

D.  Pedro.  Wilt  thou  make  a trust  a transgression  ? The 
transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss  the  rod  had  been  made, 
and  the  garland  too  ; for  the  garland  he  might  have  worn 
himself,  and  the  rod  he  might  have  bestowed  on  you,  who, 
as  I take  it,  have  stolen  his  birds’  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  restore  them 
to  the  owner.  240 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my  faith, 
you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  Lady  Beatrice  hath  a quarrel  to  you  : the 
gentleman  that  danced  with  her  told  her  she  is  much 
Wronged  by  you. 


16 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  II. 

Bene.  O,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of  a block  ! 
an  oak  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it  would  have  answered 
her  ; my  very  visor  began  to  assume  life  and  scold  with  her. 
She  told  me,  not  thinking  I had  been  myself,  that  I was  the 
prince’s  jester,  that  I was  duller  than  a great  thaw  ; hud- 
dling jest  upon  jest  with  such  impossible  conveyance  upon 
me  that  I stood  like  a man  at  a mark,  with  a whole  army 
shooting  at  me.  She  speaks  poniards,  and  every  word  stabs  : 
if  her  breath  were  as  terrible,  as  her  terminations,  there 
were  no  living  near  her  ; she  would  infect  to  the  north  star. 
I would  not  marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  all 
that  Adam  had  left  him  before  he  transgressed  : she  would 
have  made  Hercules  have  turned  spit,  yea,  and  have  cleft 
his  club  to  make  the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her  : you 
shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  good  apparel.  I would  to 
God  some  scholar  would  conjure  her  ; for  certainly,  while 
she  is  here,  a man  may  live  as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a sanctu- 
ary ; and  people  sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go 
thither  ; so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror  and  perturbation  fol- 
lows her. 

D.  Pedro.  Look,  here  she  comes.  270 

Enter  Claudio,  Beatrice,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service  to  the 
world’s  end?  I will  go  on  the  slightest  errand  now  to  the 
Antipodes  that  you  can  devise  to  send  me  on  ; I will  fetch 
you  a tooth-picker  now  from  the  furthest  inch  of  Asia,  bring 
you  the  length  of  Prester  John’s  foot,  fetch  you  a hair  off 
the  great  Cham’s  beard,  do  you  any  embassage  to  the  Pig- 
mies, rather  than  hold  three  word’s  conference  with  this 
harpy.  You  have  no  employment  for  me  ? 280 

j D.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company. 

Bene.  O God,  sir,  here’s  a dish  I love  not  : I cannot  en- 
dure my  Lady  Tongue.  [Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come  ; you  have*lost  the  heart  of 
Signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  awhile  ; and  I gave 
him  use  for  it,  a double  heart  for  his  single  one  : marry, 
once  before  he  won  it  of  me  with  false  dice,  therefore  your 
grace  may  well  say  I have  lost  it.  291 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you  have  put 
him  down. 

Beat.  So  I would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord,  lest  I 
should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  I have  brought  Count 
Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count  1 wherefore  are  you  sad  ? 

Claud.  Not  sad,  my  lord.  300 


SCENE  i.J  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  17 

D.  Pedro.  How  then  ? sick  ? 

Claud.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor  merry,  nor 
well  ; but  civil  count,  civil  as  an  orange,  and  something  of 
that  jealous  complexion. 

D.  Pedro.  I’  faith,  lady,  I think  your  blazon  to  be  true ; 
though,  I’ll  be  sworn,  if  lie  be  so,  his  conceit  is  false.  Here, 
Claudio,  I have  wooed  in  thy  name,  and  fair  Hero  is  won  : 
I have  broke  with  her  father,  and  his  good  will  obtained  : 
name  the  day  of  marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy  ! 

Leon.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with  her  my 
fortunes  : his  grace  hath  made  the  match,  and  all  grace  say 
Amen  to  it. 

Beat.  Speak,  count,  ’tis  your  cue. 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy  : I were  but 
little  happy,  if  I could  say  how  much.  Lady,  as  you  are 
mine,  I am  yours  : I give  away  myself  for  you  and  dote 
upon  the  exchange.  320 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin  ; or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his  mouth 
with  a kiss,  and  let  not  him  speak  neither. 

D.  Pedro . In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a merry  heart. 

Beat.  Yea,  my  lord  ; I thank  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps  on  the 
windy  side  of  care.  My  cousin  tells  him  in  his  ear  that  he 
is  in  her  heart. 

Claud.  And  so  she  doth  cousin. 

Beat.  Good  Lord,  for  alliance  ! Thus  goes  every  one  to 
the  world  but  I,  and  I am  sun -burnt ; I may  sit  in  a corner 
and  crv  heigh-ho  for  a husband  ! 

I).  Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  I will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I would  rather  have  one  of  your  father’s  getting. 
Hath  your  graco  ne’er  a brother  like  you  ? Your  father  got 
excellent  husbands,  if  a maid  could  come  by  them. 

JD.  Pedro.  Will  you  have  me, lady? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I might  have  another  for  work- 
ing-days : your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear  every  day.  But, 
I beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me  : I was  born  to  speak  all 
mirth  and  no  matter. 

JD.  Pedro.  Your  silence  most  offends  me,  and  to  be  merry 
best  becomes  you  ; for,  out  of  question,  you  were  born  in  a 
merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cried  ; but  then  there 
was  a star  danced,  and  under  that  I was  born.  Cousins,  God 
give  you  joy  ! 350 

Leon . Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I told  you  of? 

Beat.  I cry  you  mercy,  uncle.  By  your  grace’s  pardon. 

[Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a pleasant-spirited  lady. 


1$  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  it 

Leon.  There’s  little  of  tlie  melancholy  element  in  her, 
my  lord  : she  is  never  sad  but  when  she  sleeps,  and  not  eve* 
sad  then  ; for  I have  heard  1117  daughter  say,  she  hath  often 
dreamed  of  unhappiness  and  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

j D.  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a husband. 

Leon.  O,  by  no  means  ; she  mocks  all  her  wooers  out  ol 
suit. 

L>.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

Leon.  O Lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a week  married, 
they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

L>.  Pedro.  County  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go  ta 
church?  371 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord  : time  goes  on  crutches  till 
love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is  hence  a just 
seven-night  ; and  a time  too  brief,  too,  to  have  all  things 
answer  my  mind. 

JD.  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a breath- 
ing : but,  I warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time  shall  not  go 
dully  by  us.  I will  in  the  interim  undertake  one  of  Her- 
cules' labours  ; which  is,  to  bring  Signior  Benedick  and  the 
Lady  Beatrice  into  a mountain  of  affection  the  one  with  the 
other.  I would  fain  have  it  a match,  and  I doubt  not  but 
to  fashion  it,  if  you  three  will  but  minister  such  assistance 
as  I shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten  nights' 
watchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  gentle  Hero? 

Hero.  I will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help  my 
cousin  to  a good  husband.  391 

D.  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unliopef  ullest  husband 
that  I know.  Thus  far  can  I praise  him  ; he  is  of  a noble 
strain,  of  approved  valour  and  confirmed  honesty.  I will 
teach  you  how  to  humour  your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in 
love  with  Benedick  ; and  I,  with  your  two  helps,  will  so 
practise  on  Benedick  that,  in  despite  of  his  quick  wit  and 
his  queasy  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in  love  with  Beatrice.  If 
we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer  an  archer  : his  glory  shall 
be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and 
I will  tell  you  my  drift.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  The  same . 

Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

T>.  John.  It  is  so  ; the  Count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
daughter  of  Leonato, 


SCENE  II.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


19 


Bora.  Yea,  my  lord  ; but  I can  cross  it. 

JD.  John  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment  will  be  me- 
dicinable  to  me  : I am  sick  in  displeasure  to  liim,  and  what- 
soever comes  athwart  his  affection  ranges  evenly  with  mine. 
How  canst  thou  cross  this  marriage  ? 

Bora . Not  honestly,  my  lord  ; but  so  covertly  that  no  dis- 
honesty shall  appear  in  me.  10 

D.  John.  Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I think  I told  your  lordship  a year  since,  how  much 
I am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  waiting  gentlewoman 
to  Hero. 

JD.  John.  I remember. 

Bora.  I can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the  night,  ap- 
point her  to  look  out  at  her  lady’s  chamber  window. 

JD.  John.  What  life  is  in  that,  to  be  the  death  of  this  mar- 
riage? 20 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper.  Go  you 
to  the  prince  your  brother  ; spare  not  to  tell  him  that  he 
hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying  the  renowned  Claudio 
— whose  estimation  do  you  mightily  hold  up — to  a contam- 
inated stale,  such  a one  as  Hero. 

D.  John.  What  proof  shall  I make  of  that? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex  Claudio, 
to  undo  Hero  and  kill  Leonato.  Look  you  for  any  other 
issue?  30 

JD.  John.  Only  to  despite  them,  I will  endeavour  any  thing. 

Bora.  Go,  then  ; find  me  a meet  hour  to  draw  Don  Pedro 
and  the  Count  Claudio  alone  : tell  them  that  you  know  that 
Hero  loves  me  ; intend  a kind  of  zeal  both  to  the  prince 
and  Claudio,  as — in  love  of  your  brother’s  honour,  who  hath 
made  this  match,  and  his  friend’s  reputation,  who  is  thus 
like  to  be  cozened  with  the  semblance  of  a maid, — that  you 
have  discovered  thus.  They  will  scarcely  believe  this 
without  trial : offer  them  instances  ; which  shall  bear  no 
less  likelihood  than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber- window,  hear 
me  f call  Margaret,  Hero,  hear  Margaret  term  me  Claudio  ; 
and  bring  them  to  see  this  the  very  night  before  the  in- 
tended wedding, — for  in  the  meantime  I will  so  fashion  the 
matter  that  Hero  shall  be  absent, — and  there  shall  appear 
such  seeming  truth  of  Hero’s  disloyalty  that  jealousy  sli&ll 
be  called  assurance  and  all  the  preparation  overthrown.  51 

JD.  John.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  I will 
put  it  in  practice.  Be  cunning  in  the  working  this,  and  thy 
fee  is  a thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my  cun- 
ning shall  not  ihame  me. 

JD.  John.  I will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  marriage, 

f Exeunt . 


20 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  n. 


Scene  III.  Leonato’s  orchard. 

Enter  Benedick. 

Bene . Boy  ! 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy . Signior? 

Bene.  In  my  chamber- window  lies  a book  : bring  it  hither 
to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy.  I am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.  I know  that ; but  I would  have  thee  hence,  and 
here  again.  [Exit  Boy.  J I do  much  wonder  that  one  man, 
seeing  how  much  another  man  is  a fool  when  he  dedicates 
his  behaviours  to  love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such 
shallow  follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of  his  own 
scorn  by  falling  in  love  : and  such  a man  is  Claudio.  I 
have  known  when  there  was  no  music  with  him  but  the 
drum  and  the  fife  ; and  now  had  he  rather  hear  the  tabor 
and  the  pipe  : I have  known  when  he  would  have  walked 
ten  mile  a-foot  to  see  a good  armour  ; and  now  will  he  lie 
ten  nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a new  doublet. 
He  was  wont  to  speak  plain  and  to  the  purpose,  like  an 
honest  man  and  a soldier  ; and  now  is  he  turned  orthog- 
raphy; his  words  are  a very  fantastical  b mquet,  just  so  many 
strange  dishes.  May  I be  so  converted  and  see  with  these 
eyes?  I cannot  tell ; I think  not : I will  not  be  sworn  but 
love  may  transform  me  to  an  oyster  ; but  I’ll  take  my  oath 
on  it,  till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never  make 
me  such  a fool.  One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I am  well ; another 
is  wise,  yet  I am  well ; another  virtuous,  yet  I am  well  ; but 
till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come 
in  my  grace.  Rich  she  shall  be,  that’s  certain  ; Avise,  or  I’ll 
none  ; virtuous,  or  I’ll  never  cheapen  her  ; fair,  or  I’ll  never 
look  on  her  ; mild,  or  come  not  near  me  ; noble,  or  not  I for 
an  angel  ; of  good  discourse,  an  excellent  musician,  and  her 
hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it  please  God.  Ha  ! the  prince 
and  Monsieur  Love  ! I will  hide  me  in  the  arbour. 

[ Withdraws. 

Ehiter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  my  good  lord.  How  still  the  evening  is,  40 
As  hush’d  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony  ! 

D.  Pedro.  See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  himself  ? 

Claud.  O,  very  well,  my  lord  : the  music  ended, 

Well  fit  the  kid-fox  with  a pennyworth. 


21 


scene  in.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Enter  Balthasar  with  3fusic. 

B.  Pedro.  Come,  Balthasar,  we’ll  hear  that  song  again. 

Balth.  O,  good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  l}ad  a voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

B.  Pedro.  It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency 
To  put  a strange  face  on  his  own  perfection. 

I pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more.  50 

Balth.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I will  sing  ; 

Since  many  a wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy,  yet  he  wooes, 

Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

B.  Pedro.  Now,  pray  thee,  come  ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument. 

Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes  ; 

There’s  not  a note  of  mine  that’s  worth  the  noting. 

B.  Pedro.  Why,  these  are  very  crotchets  that  he  speaks  ; 
Note,  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing.  [Air. 

Bene.  Now.  divine  air  ! now  is  his  soul  ravished  ! Is  it 
not  strange  that  sheeps’  guts  should  hale  souls  out  of  men’s 
bodies?  Well,  a horn  for  my  money,  when  all’s  done. 

The  Song. 

Balth.  Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever, 

One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore, 

To  one  thing  constant  never  : 

Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go. 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 

Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe  70 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  moe, 

Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 

The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so, 

Since  summer  first  was  leafy  : 

Then  sigh  not  so,  &e. 

B.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a good  song. 

Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

B.  Pedro.  Ha,  no,  no,  faith  ; thou  singest  well  enough 
for  a shift.  80 

Bene.  An  he  had  been  a dog  that  should  have  howled 
thus,  they  would  have  hanged  him  : and  I pray  God  his 
bad  voice  bode  no  mischief.  I had  as  lief  have  heard  the 
night-raven,  come  what  plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

B . Pedro.  Yea,  marry,  dost  thou  hear,  Balthasar?  I pray 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


22 


[ACT  II. 


thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music  ; for  to  morrow  night  we 
would  have  it  at  the  Lady  Hero’s  chamber- window. 

Balth.  The  best  I can,  my  lord.  90 

D.  Pedro.  Do  so  : farewell.  [Exit  Balthasar. 

Come  hither,  Leonato.  What  was  it  you  told  me  of  to-day, 
that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love  with  Signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  O,  ay  : stalk  on,  stalk  on ; the  fowl  sits.  I did 
never  think  that  lady  would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I neither  ; but  most  wonderful  that  she 
should  so  dote  on  Signior  Benedick,  whom  she  hath  in  all 
outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to  abhor.  101 

Bene.  Is’t  possible?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I cannot  tell  what  to  think 
of  it  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  enraged  affection  : it  is 
past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

D.  Pedro.  May  be  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.  O God,  counterfeit  ! There  was  never  counter- 
feit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion  as  she  dis- 
covers it.  Ill 

j D.  Pedro.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows  she? 
Claud.  Bait  the  hook  well  ; this  fish  will  bite. 

Leon.  What  effects,  my  lord  ! She  will  sit  you,  you 
heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Claud.  She  did,  indeed. 

D.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I pray  you  ? You  amaze  me  : I 
would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  invincible  against 
all  assaults  of  affection.  120 

Leon.  I would  have  a worn  it  had,  my  lord ; especially 
against  Benedick. 

Bene.  I should  think  this  a gull,  but  that  the  white- 
bearded  fellow  speaks  it  ; knavery  cannot,  sure,  hide  him- 
self in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  He  hath  ta’en  the  infection  : hold  it  up. 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known  to  Benedick  ? 
Leon.  No  ; and  swears  she  never  will  : that’s  her  tor 
ment.  130 

Claud ’.  ’Tis  true,  indeed  ; so  your  daughter  says  ; “ Shall 
I,”  says  she,  “that  have  so  often  encountered  him  with 
scorn,  write  to  him  that  I love  him?” 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning  to  write 
to  him  ; for  she’ll  be  up  twenty  times  a night,  and  there 
will  she  sit  in  her  smock,  till  she  have  writ  a sheet  of  paper  : 
my  daughter  tells  us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a sheet  of  paper,  I remember  a 
pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O,  when  she  had  writ  it  and  was  reading  it  over, 
she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between  the  sheet  ? 


SCENE  HI.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  23 

Claud . That. 

Leon.  O,  slie  tore  the  letter  into  a thousand  halfpence  ; 
railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so  immodest  to  write  to 
one  that  she  knew  would  flout  her  ; “I  measure  him,” 
says  she,  “ by  my  own  spirit  ; for  I should  flout  him,  if  he 
writ  to  me  ; yea.  though  I love  him,  I should.”  151 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps,  sobs, 
beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays,  curses  ; “ O sweet 
Benedick  ! God  give  me  patience  !” 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed  ; my  daughter  says  so  : and  the 
ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her  that  my  daughter  is 
sometime  afeard  she  will  do  a desperate  outrage  to  hereelf  , 
it  is  very  true. 

D.  Pedro . It  were  good  that  Benedick  knew  of  it  by  some 
other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it.  1C1 

Claud.  To  what  end  ? He  would  make  but  a sport  of  it 
and  torment  the  poor  lady,  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang  him. 
She’s  an  excellent  sweet  lady  ; and,  out  of  all  suspicion,  she 
is  virtuous.  l 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  everything  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon.  0,  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating  in  so  ten- 
der  a body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one  that  blood  hath  the 
victory.  I am  sorry  for  her,  as  I have  just  cause,  being 
her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

D.  Pedro.  I would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage  on  me  : 

I would  have  daifed  all  other  respects  and  made  liei  half  my- 
self. I pray  you,  tell  Benedick  of  it,  and  hear  what  a’  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  good,  think  you? 

Claud.  Hero  thinks  surely  she  will  die  ; for  she  says  she 
will  die,  if  he  love  her  not,  and  she  will  die,  ere  she  make 
her  love  known,  and  she  will  die,  if  he  woo  her,  rather  than 
she  will  bate  one  breath  of  her  accustomed  crossness. 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well  . if  she  should  make  tender  of 
her  love,  ’tis  very  possible  he’ll  scorn  it  ; for  the  man,  as 
you  know  all.  hath  a contemptible  spirit. 

Claud.  He  is  a very  proper  man. 

D.  Pedro.  He  hath  indeed  a good  outward  happiness.  191 

Claud.  Before  God  ! and,  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth  indeed  show  some  sparks  that  are  like 
wit. 

Claud.  And  I take  him  to  be  valiant. 

JD.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I assure  you  : and  in  the  manag- 
ing of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise  ; for  either  he  avoids 
them  with  great  discretion,  or  undertakes  them  with  a most 
Christian-like  fear.  209 


U MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  n. 

Leon . If  he  do  fear  God,  a’  must  necessarily  keep  peace  : 
if  lie  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into  a quarrel  with 
fear  and  trembling. 

D.  Pedro.  And  so  will  lie  do  ; for  the  man  doth  fear  God, 
howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some  large  jests  he  will 
make.  Well,  I am  sorry  for  your  niece.  Shall  we  go  seek 
Benedick,  and  tell  him  of  her  love? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord  : let  her  wear  it  out  with 
good  counsel. 

Leon.  Nay,  that’s  impossible  : she  may  wear  her  heart 
out  first.  210 

D Pedro.  Well,  we  will  hear  further  of  it  by  your 
daughter  : let  it  cool  the  while.  I love  Benedick  well  ; and 
1 could  wish  he  would  modestly  examine  himself,  to  see 
how  much  he  is  unworthy  so  good  a lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk  ? dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I will  never 
trust  my  expectation.  220 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  her ; and 
that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gentlewomen  carry.  The 
sport  will  be,  when  they  hold  one  an  opinion  of  another’s 
dotage,  and  no  such  matter  : that’s  the  scene  that  I would 
see,  which  will  be  merely  a dumb-show.  Let  us  send  her 
to  call  him  in  to  dinner. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro , Claudio , and  Leonato. 

Bene.  [Coming  forward ] This  can  be  no  trick  /he  con- 
ference was  sadly  borne.  They  have  the  truth  of  this  from 
Hero.  They  seem  to  pity  the  iady  : it  seems  her  affections 
have  their  full  bent.  Love  me  ! why,  it  must  be  requited. 
I hear  how  I am  censured  : they  say  I will  bear  myself 
proudly,  if  I perceive  the  love  come  from  her  ; they  say  too 
that  she  will  rather  die  than  give  any  sign  of  affection.  I 
did  never  think  to  marry  : I must  not  seem  proud  : happy 
are  they  that  hear  their  detractions  and  can  put  them  to 
mending.  They  say  the  lady  is  fair;  ’tis  a truth,  I can 
bear  them  witness  ; and  virtuous  ; ’tis  so,  1 cannot  reprove 
it ; and  wise,  but  for  loving  me  ; by  my  troth,  it  is  no  ad- 
dition to  her  wit,  nor  no  great  argument  of  her  folly,  for  I 
will  be  horribly  in  love  with  her.  I may  chance  have  some 
odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because  I 
have  railed  so  long  against  marriage  : but  doth  not  the  ap- 
petite alter?  a man  loves  the  meat  in  his  youth  that  he  can- 
not endure  in  his  age.  Shall  quips  and  sentences  and  these 
paper  bullets  of  the  brain  awe  a man  from  the  career  of  his 
humour  ? No,  the  world  must  be  peopled.  When  I said  I 
would  die  a bachelor,  I did  not  think  I should  live  until  I 


SCENE  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


25 


were  married.  Here  comes  Beatrice.  By  this  day  ! she's  a 
fair  lady  : I do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will  I am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in  to 
dinner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice,  I thank  yon  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  you 
take  pains  to  thank  me  : if  it  had  been  painful,  I would  not 
have  come.  261 

Bene.  You  take  pleasure  then  in  the  message? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a knife’s 
point  and  choke  a daw  withal.  You  have  no  stomach,  sig- 
nior  : fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Bene.  Ha  ! “Against  my  will  I am  sent  to  bid  you  come 
in  to  dinner  there’s  a double  meaning  in  that.  “ I took 
no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  you  took  pains  to 
thank  me;”  that’s  as  much  as  to  say,  Any  pains  that  I take 
for  you  is  as  easy  as  thanks.  If  I do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I 
am  a villain  ; if  I do  not  love  her,  I am  a Jew.  I will  go 
get  her  picture.  [Exit. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I.  Leonato’s  garden. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

j Eero.  Good  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlor  ; 

There  slialt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  prince  and  Claudio  : 

Whisper  her  ear  and  tell  her,  I and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her  ; say  that  thou  overheard’st  us  ; 

And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 

Where  honeysuckles,  ripen’d  by  the  sun, 

Forbid  the  sun  to  enter,  like  favourites, 

Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride  10 

Against  that  power  that  bred  it : there  will  she  hide  her, 

To  listen  our  purpose.  This  is  thy  office  ; 

Bear  thee  well  in  it  and  leave  us  alone. 

Marg.  I’ll  make  her  come,  I warrant  you,  presently.  [Exit. 

Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come. 

As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down, 

Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick. 

W'hen  I do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit  ; 

My  talk  to  tnee  must  be  how  Benedick  20 


£6  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  m. 

Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice.  Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid’s  crafty  arrow  made, 

That  only  wounds  by  hearsay. 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

Now  begin ; 

For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  The  pleasant’st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream. 

And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 

So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ; who  even  now 

Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture.  30 

Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose  nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it. 

{Approaching  the  bower. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful  ; 

I know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  liaggerds  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 

Hero.  So  says  the  prince  and  my  new-trothed  lord. 

Urs.  And  did  they  bid  you  tell  l^er  of  it,  madam? 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it  ; 40 

But  I persuaded  them,  if  they  loved  Benedick, 

To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection, 

And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs.  Why  did  you  so?  Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full  as  fortunate  a bed 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 

Hero.  O god  of  love  ! I know  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a man  : 

But  Nature  never  framed  a woman’s  heart 

Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  ; ;'0 

Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 

Misprising  what  they  look  on,  and  her  wit 

Values  itself  so  liiglilv  that  to  her 

All  matter  else  seems  weak  : she  cannot  love. 

Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 

She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I think  so  ; 

And  therefore  certainly  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.  Why,  you  speak  truth.  I never  yet  saw  man, 

How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarelv  featured,  60 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward  ; if  fair-faced, 


SCENE  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  27 

She  would  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister  ; 

If  black,  why,  Nature,  drawing  of  an  antique, 

Made  a foul  blot ; if  tall,  a lance  ill-lieaded  ; 

If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 

If  speaking,  why,  a vane  blown  with  all  winds  ; 

If  silent,  why,  a block  moved  with  none. 

So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purcliasetli.  70 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No,  not  to  be  so  odd  and  from  all  fashions 
As  Beatrice  is,  canrot  be  commendable  : 

But  who  dare  tell  her  so?  If  I should  speak, 

She  would  mock  me  into  air  ; 0,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 

Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover’d  fire, 

Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 

It  were  a better  death  than  die  with  mocks, 

Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling.  80 

Urs.  Yet  tell  her  of  it  : hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero.  No  ; rather  l will  go  to  Benedick 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  liis  passion. 

And,  truly,  I’ll  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with  : one  doth  not  know 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs.  O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a wrong. 

She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgement — 

Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a wit 

As  she  i3  prized  to  have — as  to  refuse  90 

So  rare  a gentleman  as  Signior  Benedick. 

Hero.  He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 

Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.  I pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam, 
Speaking  my  fancy  : Signior  Benedick, 

For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument  and  valour. 

Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  lie  had  it.  When  are 
you  married,  madam  ? 100 

Hero.  Why,  every  day,  to-morrow.  Come,  go  in: 

I’ll  show  thee  some  attires,  and  have  thy  counsel 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urs.  She’s  limed,  I warrant  you  : we  have  caught  her, 
madam. 

Hero.  If  it  proves  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps  : 

Some  cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[ Exeunt  Hero  and  Ursula. 


‘28 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  hi. 

Beat.  [Coming  forward ] Wliat  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ? Can 
this  be  true  ? 

Stand  I condemn’d  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much  ? 
Contempt,  farewell ! and  maiden  pride,  adieu  I 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such.  110 

And,  Benedick,  love  on  ; I will  requite  thee, 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand  : 

If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a holy  band  ; 

For  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 

Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.  A room  in  Leonato’s  house. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  consum- 
mate, and  then  go  I toward  Arragon. 

Claud.  I’ll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you’ll  vouch- 
safe me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a soil  in  the  new 
gloss  of  your  marriage  as  to  show  a child  his  new  coat  and 
forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I will  only  be  bold  with  Benedick 
for  his  company  ; for,  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the 
sole  of  his  foot,  he  is  all  mirth  : he  hath  twice  or  thrice 
cut  Cupid’s  bow-string  and  the  little  hangman  dare  not 
shoot  at  him  ; he  hath  a heart  as  sound  as  a bell  and  his 
tongue  is  the  clapper,  for  what  his  heart  thinks  his  tongue 
speaks. 

Bene.  Gallants,  I am  not  as  I have  been. 

Leon.  So  say  I : metliinks  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.  I hope  he  be  in  love. 

I).  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant  ! there’s  no  true  drop  of 
blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touched  with  love  : if  he  be  sad, 
he  wants  money.  20 

Bene.  I have  the  toothache. 

D.  Pedro.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  afterwards. 

JD.  Pedro.  What ! sigh  for  the  toothache? 

Leon.  Where  is  but  a humour  or  a worm. 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  a grief  but  he  that 
has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love.  30 

JD.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in  him,  unless 
it  be  a fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  disguises  ; as,  to  be  a 
Dutchman  to-day,  a Frenchman  to-morrow,  or  in  the  shape 
or  two  countries  at  once,  as,  a German  from  the  waist 


SCENE  II.  j MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


29 


downward,  all  slops,  and  a Spaniard  from  tlie  hip  upward, 
no  doublet.  Unless  he  have  a fancy  to  this  foolery,  as  it  ap- 
pears he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you  would  have  it 
appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,  there  is  no 
believing  old  signs  : a’  brushes  his  hat  o’  mornings  ; what 
should  that  bode  ? 42 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber’s  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber’s  man  hath  been  seen  with 
him,  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath  already  stuffed 
tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by  the  loss 
of  a beard. 

L>.  Pedro.  Nay,  a’  rubs  himself  with  civet : can  you 
smell  him  out  by  that  ? . 51 

Claud.  That’s  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet  youth’s  in 
love. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melancholy. 

Claud.  And  when  was  lie  wont  to  wash  his  face  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the  which,  I 
hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit ; which  is  now  crept 
into  a lute-string  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a heavy  tale  for  him : con- 
clude, conclude  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  I know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I know  too  : I warrant,  one  that 
knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ; and,  in  despite  of 
all,  dies  for  him.  71 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  upwards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  toothache.  Old  sig- 
nior,  walk  aside  with  me  : I have  studied  eight  or  nine 
wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which  these  hobby-horses  must 
not  hear.  [Exeunt  Benedick  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about  Beatrice. 

Claud.  ’Tis  even  so.  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by  this 
played  their  parts  with  Beatrice  ; and  then  the  two  bears 
will  not  bite  one  another  when  they  meet.  81 

Enter  Don  John. 

D.  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you  ! 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  brother. 

D.  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I would  speak  with  you. 

D.  Pedro.  In  private? 

D.  John.  If  it  please  you  : yet  Count  Claudio  may  hear  ; 
for  what  I would  speak  of  concerns  him. 


BO 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  hi. 

D . Pedro . What’s  the  matter  ? 90 

D.  John.  [To  Claudio ] Means  your  lordship  to  be  mar- 
ried to-morrow  ? 

D.  Pedro.  You  know  he  does. 

D.  John.  I know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  I know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I pray  you  discover  it. 

D.  John.  You  may  think  I love  you  not  : Jet  that  appear 
hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I now  will  mani- 
fest. For  my  brother,  I think  he  holds  you  well,  and  in 
dearness  of  heart  hath  liolp  to  effect  your  ensuing  mar- 
riage ; — surely  suit  ill  spent  and  labour  ill  bestowed. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what’s  the  matter  ? 

D.  John.  I came  hither  to  tell  you  ; and,  circumstances 
shortened,  for  she  has  been  too  long  a talking  of,  the  lady 
is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who,  Hero? 

D.  John.  Even  she  ; Leonato’s  Hero,  your  Hero,  every 
man’s  Hero.  110 

Claud.  Disloyal  ? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her  wicked- 
ness ; I could  say  she  were  worse  : think  you  of  a worse 
title,  and  I will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder  not  till  further  war- 
rant : go  but  with  me  to-night,  you  shall  see  her  chamber- 
window  entered,  even  the  night  before  her  wedding-day  if 
you  love  her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her  ; but  it  would  better 
fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so?  120 

D.  Pedro.  I will  not  think  it. 

D.  John.  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  confess  not 
that  you  know  : if  you  will  follow  me,  I will  show  you 
enough  ; and  when  you  have  seen  more  and  heard  more, 
proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  I see  any  thing  to-night  why  I should  not  marry 
her  to-morrow,  in  the  congregation,  where  I should  wed, 
there  will  I shame  her. 

JD.  Pedro.  And,  as  I wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her,  I will 
join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her.  130 

D.  John.  I will  disparage  her  no  farther  till  you  are  my 
witnesses  : bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight,  and  let  the 
issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.  O day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.  O mischief  strangely  thwarting  ! 

D.  John.  O plague  right  well  prevented  ! so  will  you  say 
when  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

[j Exeunt. 


scene  m.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  31 

Scene  III.  A street . 

Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges  with  the  Watch. 

Dog.  Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verg.  «Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dog.  Nay,  that  were  a punishment  too  good  for  them,  if 
they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them,  being  chosen  for 
the  prince’s  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour  Dogberry. 

Dog.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man  to  be 
constable?  10 

First  Watch.  Hugh  Otecake,  sir,  or  George  Seacole  ; for 
they  can  write  and  read. 

Dog.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacole.  God  hath  blessed 
you  with  a good  name  : to  be  a well-favoured  man  is  the 
gift  of  fortune  ; but  to  write  and  read  comes  by  nature. 

Sec.  Watch.  Both  which,  master  constable,— 

Dog.  You  have  : I knew  it  would  be  your  answer.  Well, 
for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God  thanks,  and  make  no 
boast  of  it ; and  for  your  writing  and  reading,  let  that  ap- 
pear when  there  is  no  need  of  such  vanity.  You  are 
thought  here  to  be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  the 
constable  of  the  watch  ; therefore  bear  you  the  lantern. 
This  is  your  charge  : you  shall  comprehend  all  vagrom 
men  ; you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in  the  prince’s  name. 

Sec.  Watch.  How  if  a’  will  not  stand? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him  go  ; 
and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together  and  thank 
God  you  are  rid  of  a knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is  none 
of  the  prince’s  subjects. 

Dog.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but  the 
prince’s  subjects.  You  shall  also  make  no  noise  in  the 
streets  ; for  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  to  talk  is  most  tol- 
erable and  not  to  be  endured. 

Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk  : we  know  what 
belongs  to  a watch.  40 

Dog.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most  quiet 
watchman  ; for  I cannot  see  how  sleeping  should  offend  : 
only,  have  a care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen.  Well,  you 
are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid  those  that  are  drunk 
get  them  to  bed. 

Watch.  How  if  they  will  not? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  sober  : if 
they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer,  you  may  say 
they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for,  51 


32 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  m. 

Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dog.  If  you  meet  a thief,  you  may  suspect  him,  by  vir- 
tue of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  ; and,  for  such  kind  of 
men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them,  why,  the 
more  is  for  your  honesty.  • 

Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a thief,  shall  we  not  lay 
hands  on  him  ? 

Dog.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may ; but  I think  they 
that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled  : the  most  peaceable  way  for 
you,  if  you  do  take  a thief,  is  to  let  him  show  himself  what 
he  is  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dog.  Truly,  I would  not  hang  a dog  by  my  will,  much 
more  a man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a child  cry  in  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse  and  bid  her  still  it.  70 

Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep  and  will  not  hear  us  ? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child  wake 
her  with  crying  ; for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear  her  lamb 
when  it  baes  will  never  answer  a calf  when  he  bleats. 

Verg.  ’Tis  very  true. 

Dog.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge  : — you,  constable,  are 
to  present  the  prince’s  own  person  : if  you  meet  the  prince 
in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him.  81 

Verg.  Nay,  by’r  our  lady,  that  I think  a’  cannot. 

Dog.  Five  shillings  to  one  on’t,  writh  any  man  that  knows 
the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  : marry,  not  without  the 
prince  be  willing  ; for,  indeed,  the  watch  ought  to  offend  no 
man  ; and  it  is  an  offence  to  stay  a man  against  his  will. 

Verg.  By’r  lady,  I think  it  be  so. 

Dog.  Ha,  ha,  lia  ! Well,  masters,  good  night : an  there 
be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up  me  : keep  your 
fellows’  counsels  and  your  own  ; and  good  night.  Come, 
neighbour. 

Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge  : let  us  go 
sit  here  upon  the  church- bench  till  two,  and  then  all  to  bed. 

Dog.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbours.  I pray  you 
watch  about  Signior  Leonato’s  door  ; for  the  wedding  being 
there  to-morrow,  there  is  a great  coil  to-night.  Adieu  : be 
vigilant,  I beseech  you.  [ Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges.  101 

Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.  What,  Conrade  ! 

Watch.  [Aside]  Peace  ! stir  not. 

Bora.  Conrade,  I say  ! 

(Jon,  Here,  man  ; I am  at  thy  elbow. 


SCENE  III.  J MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  33 

Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched  ; I thought  there  would 
a scab  follow. 

Con.  I will  owe  tlieo  an  answer  for  that : and  now  for- 
ward  with  thy  tale. 

Bora.  Stand  thee  close,  then,  under  this  pent*liouse,  for 
it  drizzles  rain  ; and  I wiil,  like  a true  drunkard,  utter  all 
to  thee. 

Watch.  [Atide]  Some  treason,  masters  : }*et  stand  close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know  I have  earned  of  Don  John  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villnny  should  be  so  dear? 

Bora.  Thou  shouldst  rather  ask  if  it  were  possible  any 
villany  should  be  so  rich  ; for  when  rich  villains  have 
need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make  what  price  they  will. 

Con.  I wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  That  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed.  Thou  knowest 
that  the  fashion  of  a doublet,  or  a hat,  or  a cloak,  is 
nothing  to  a man. 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I mean,  the  fashion. 

Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush  ! I may  as  well  say  the  fool’s  the  fool.  But 
geest  thou  not  what  a deformed  thief  this  fashion  is? 

Watch.  [Aside]  I know  that  Deformed  ; a’  has  been  a 
vile  thief  this  seven  year  ; a*  goes  up  and  down  like  a gen* 
tleman  : I remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody? 

Con.  No  ; ’twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I say,  what  a deformed  thief  tlna 
fasliiou  is?  how  giddily  a’  turns  about  all  the  hot  bloods 
between  fourteen  and  five-and- thirty  ? sometimes  fashion- 
ing them  like  Pharoli’s  soldiers  in  the  reeky  painting,  some- 
time like  god  Bel’s  priests  in  the  old  church- window,  some- 
time like  tbs  shaven  Hercules  in  the  smirch  worm-eaten 
tapestry,  where  his  codpiece  seems  as  massy  as  his  club? 

Con.  All  this  l see  ; and  I see  that  the  fashion  wears  out 
more  appirel  than  the  man.  But  art  not  thou  thyself 
giddy  with  the  fashion  too.  that  thou  hast  shifted  out  of 
thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the  fashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so,  neither  : but  know  that  I have  to-night 
wooed  Margaret,  the  Lady  Hero’s  gentlewoman,  by  the 
name  of  Hero  : she  leans  me  out  at  her  mistress’  chamber- 
window,  bids  me  a thousand  times  good  l ight, — I tell  this 
tale  vilely  : — I should  first  tell  thee  how  the  prince,  Claudio 
and  my  master,  planted  and  placed  and  possessed  by  my 
master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard  this  amiable 
encounter.  161 

SHAK.  I.— 11 


34  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  iii. 

Con.  And  thought  they  Margaret  was  Hero  ? 

Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  prince  and  Claudio  ; hut  the 
devil  my  master  knew  she  was  Margaret  ; and  partly  by 
his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them,  partly  by  the  dark 
night,  which  did  deceive  them,  but  chiefly  by  my  villany, 
which  did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don  John  had  made, 
away  went  Claudio  enraged  ; swore  he  would  meet  her,  as 
he  was  appointed,  next  morning  at  the  temple,  and  there, 
before  the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what  he 
saw  o’er  night  and  send  her  home  again  without  a husband 

First  Watch.  We  charge  you,  in  the  prince’s  name,  stand  ! 

Sec.  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  master  constable.  We 
have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  lechery 
that  ever  was  known  in  the  commonwealth.  181 

First  Watch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them  : I know 
him  ; a’  wears  a lock. 

Con.  Masters,  masters, — 

Sec.  Watch.  You’ll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth,  I 
warrant  you. 

Con.  Masters, — 

First  Watch.  Never  speak  : we  charge  you  let  us  obey 
you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a goodly  commodity,  being 
taken  up  of  these  men’s  bills.  191 

Con.  A commodity  in  question,  I warrant  you.  Come, 
we’ll  obey  you.  T Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  Hero’s  apartment . 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and  de- 
sire her  to  ri>e. 

Ur s.  I will,  lady. 

Hero.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.  Well.  [Exit. 

Marg.  Troth,  I think  your  other  rabato  were  better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I’ll  wear  this. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  ’s  not  so  good  ; and  I warrant  your 
cousin  will  say  so.  10 

Hero.  My  cousin’s  a fool,  and  thou  art  another  : I’ll  wear 
none  but  this. 

Marg.  I like  the  new  tire  within  excellently,  if  the  hair 
were  a thought  browner  ; and  your  gown’s  a most  rare 
fashion,  i’  faith.  I saw  the  Duchess  of  Milan’s  gown  that 
they  praise  so. 

Hero.  0,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 


SCEK 12  iv.]  MITCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  85 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  ’s  but  a niglit-gown  in  respect  of 
yours  : cloth  o’  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced  with  silver,  set 
with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side  sleeves,  and  skirts,  round 
underborne  with  a bluish  tinsel  : but  for  a fine,  quaint, 
graceful  and  excellent  fashion,  yours  is  worth  ten  on’t. 

Hero.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it  ! for  my  heart  is  ex- 
ceeding heavy. 

Marg.  ’Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the  weight  of  a man. 

Hero.  Fie  upon  thee  ! art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady?  of  speaking  honourably?  Is  not 
marriage  honourable  in  a beggar?  Is  not  your  lord  hon- 
ourable without  marriage?  I think  you  would  have  me 
say,  * ‘ saving  your  reverence,  a husband  : ” an  bad  thinking 
do  not  wrest  true  speaking,  I’ll  offend  nobody  : is  there 
any  harm  in  “the  heavier  for  a husband”?  None,  I think, 
an  it  be  the  right  husband  and  the  right  wife  ; otherwise 
'tis  light,  and  not  heavy  : ask  my  Lady  Beatrice  else  ; here 
she  comes. 


Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero . Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero.  40 

Hero.  Why,  how  now  ? do  you  speak  in  the  sick  tune  ? 

Beat.  I am  out  of  all  other  tune,  metliinks. 

Marg.  Clap’s  into  “Light  o’  love  that  goes  without  a 
burden  : do  you  sing  it,  and  I’ll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Ye  light  o’  love,  with  your  heels  ! then,  if  your 
husband  have  stables  enough,  you’ll  see  he  shall  lack  no 
barns. 

Marg.  O illegitimate  construction  ! I scorn  that  with  my 
heels.  51 

Beat.  ’Tis  almost  five  o’clock,  cousin  ; ’tis  time  you  were 
ready.  By  my  troth,  I am  exceeding  ill  : heigh-ho  ! 

Marg.  For  a hawk,  a horse,  or  a husband  ? 

Beat.  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there’s  no  more 
sailing  by  the  star.  # 

Beat.  What  means  the  fool,  trow  ? 

Marg.  Nothing  I ; but  God  send  every  one  their  heart’s 
desire ! 61 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me ; they  are  an  ex- 
cellent perfume. 

Beat.  I am  stuffed,  cousin  ; I cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A maid,  and  stuffed  ! there’s  goodly  catching  of 
cold. 

Beat.  O,  God  help  me  ! God  help  me  ! how  long  have 
you  professed  apprehension  ? 


SO  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  lit 

Marg.  Even  since  you  left  it.  Doth  not  my  wit  become 
me  rarely?  70 

Beat . It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  should  wear  it  in  your 
cap.  By  my  troth,  I am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Cnrduus  Benedictus, 
and  lay  it  to  your  heart : it  is  the  only  thing  for  a qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prickest  her  with  a thistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus ! why  Benedictus  ? you  have  some 
moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  Moral  ! no,  by  my  troth,  I have  no  moral  mean- 
ing ; I meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may  think  ] ercliance 
that  I think  you  are  in  iove  : nay,  by’r  lady,  I am  not  such 
a fool  to  think  what  I list,  nor  I iist  not  to  think  what  I 
can,  nor  indeed  I cannot  think,  if  I would  think  my  heart 
out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love  or  that  you  will  be  in 
love  or  that  you  can  be  in  love.  Yet  Benedick  was  such 
another,  and  now  is  he  become  a man  : he  swore  he  would 
never  marry,  and  yet  now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he  eats 
his  meat  without  grudging  : and  how  you  may  be  converted 
I know  not,  but  methinks  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other 
women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps? 

Marg.  Not  a false  gallop. 

Re-enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw  : the  prince,  the  count,  Signior 
Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of  the  town,  are 
come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg,  good  Ursula. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  Another  room  in  Leonato’s  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  uilh  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neighbour? 

Bog.  Marry,  sir,  I v/ould  have  some  confidence  with  you 
that  decerns'  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I pray  you  ; for  you  see  it  is  a busy  time 
with  m \ 

Bog.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verg.  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

IjCoii.  What  is  it,  my  good  fiiends? 

Bog.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a little  off  the  matter  : 
an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so  blunt  as,  God  help, 
I would  desire  they  were  ; but,  in  faith,  honest  as  the  skin 
between  his  brows. 


37 


scenk  v.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Verg . Yes,  I tliank  God  I am  as  honest  as  any  man  living 
that  is  an  old  man  and  no  hon ester  than  I. 

Dog.  Comparisons  are  odorous : palabras,  neighbour 
Verges. 

Leor ?.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious.  20 

Dog.  It  pleas  s your  worship  to  say  so,  but  we  are  the 
poor  duke’s  officers  ; but  truly,  for  mine  own  part,  if  I were 
as  tedious  as  a king,  I could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it 
all  of  your  worship.  ^ 

Leon.  All  thy  tediousness  on  me,  ah? 

Dog.  Yea,  and  ’twere  a thousand  pound  more  than  ’tis  ; 
for  I hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your  worship  as  of  any  man 
in  the  city  ; and  though  I be  but  a poor  man,  I am  glad  to 
hear  it.  30 

Verg.  And  so  am  I. 

Leon.  I would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-niglit,  excepting  your 
worship’s  presence,  lia’  ta’en  a couple  of  as  arrant  knaves 
as  any  in  Messina. 

Dog.  A good  old  man,  sir  ; he  will  bo  talking  : as  they 
say,  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out  : God  help  us  ! it  is 
a world  to  see.  Well  said,  i’  faith,  neighbour  Verges  : well, 
God’s  a good  man;  an  two  men  ride  of  a horse,  one  must 
ride  behind.  An  honest  soul,  i’  faith,  sir  ; by  my  truth  he 
is,  as  ever  broke  bread  ; but  God  is  to  be  worshipped  ; all 
men  are  not  alike  ; alas,  good  neighbour  ! 

L^eon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of  you. 

Dog.  Gifts  that  God  gives. 

Ljeon.  I must  leave  you. 

Dog.  One  word,  sir  : our  watch,  sir,  have  indeed  compre- 
hended two  nspicious  persons,  and  wo  would  have  them  this 
morning  examined  before  your  worship. 

Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself  and  bring  it  me : 
I am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may  appear  unto  you. 

Dog.  It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go  : fare  you  well. 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your  daughter 
to  her  husband.  * GO 

Leon.  1’il  wait  upon  them  : I am  ready. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Messenger. 

Dog.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis  Seacole  ; 
bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkliorn  to  the  gaol : we  are  now 
to  examination  these  men. 

Verg.  And  avg  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dog.  Wc  will  spare  f<?r  no  Avlt,  I Avarrant  you  ; here’s 


38 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  iy. 


that  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a non-come  : only  get  the 
learned  writer  to  set  down  our  excommunication  and  meet 
me  at  the  gaol.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  A church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Leonato,  Friar  Francis, 
Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  attend- 
ants. 

Leon.  Come,  Friar  Francis,  be  brief ; only  to  the  plain 
form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their  particular  du- 
ties afterwards. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this  lady. 
Claud.  No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her  : friar,  you  come  to  marry 
her. 

Friar.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this  count. 
Hero.  I do.  11 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment 
why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I charge  you,  on  your 
souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud.  Know  you  any,  Hero  ? 

Hero.  None,  my  lord. 

Friar.  Know  you  any,  count  ? 

Leon.  I dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud l.  0,  what  men  dare  do  ! what  men  may  do  ! what 
men  daily  do,  not  knowing  what  they  do  ! 21 

Bene.  How  now  ! interjections?  Why,  then,  some  be  of 
laughing,  as,  ah,  ha,  he  ! 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar.  Father,  by  your  leave  : 
Will  you  wTith  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid,  your  daughter? 

Leon.  As  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 

Claud.  And  what  have  I to  give  you  back,  whose  worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again.  30 
Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thankfulness. 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again  : 

Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 

She’s  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour. 

Behold  how  like  a maid  she  blushes  here  ! 

O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal  ! 

Comes  not  that  blood  as  modest  evidence 
To  witness  simple  virtue?  Would  you  not  swear, 


39 


scene  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a maid,  40 

By  these  exterior  shows  ! But  she  is  none  : 

She  knows  the  heat  of  a luxurious  bed  ; 

Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

Leon.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  Not  to  be  married. 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.  Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof, 

Have  vanquish’d  the  resistance  of  her  youth, 

And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, — 

Claud.  I know  what  you  would  say  : if  I have  known  her, 
You  will  say  she  did  embrace  me  as  a husband,  50 

And  so  extenuate  the  ’forehand  sin  • 

No,  Leonato, 

I never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large  ; 

But,  as  a brother  to  his  sister,  sliow’d 
Bashful  sincerity  and  comely  love. 

Hero.  And  seem’d  I ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud.  Out  on  thee  ! Seeming  ! I will  write  against  it : 
You  seem  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb, 

As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 

But  you  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood  60 

Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper’d  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero.  Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide  ? 

Leon.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  you  ? 

JD.  Pedro.  What  should  I speak  ? 

I stand  dishonour’d,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a common  stale. 

Leon.  Are  these  things  spoken,  or  do  I but  dream? 

D.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things  are  true. 
Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a nuptial. 

Hero.  True  ! 0 God  1 

Claud.  Leonato,  stand  I here  ? 70 

Is  this  the  prince  ? is  this  the  prince’s  brother? 

Is  this  face  Hero’s  ? are  our  eyes  our  own? 

Leon.  All  this  is  so  : but  wliat  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your  daughter  ; 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon , I charge  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  0,  God  defend  me  ! how  am  I beset  ! 

What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this? 

Claud.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name.  80 

Hero.  Is  it  not  Hero  ? Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach? 

Claud . Marry,  that  can  Hero  ; 


40  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  rv. 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero’s  Virtue. 

Wliat  man  was  lie  talk’d  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 

Now,  if  you  are  a maid,  answer  to  this. 

Hero.  I talk’d  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

H.  Pedro.  Why,  then  are  you  no  maiden.  Leonato, 

I am  sorry  you  must  hear  : upon  mine  honour, 

Myself,  my  brother  and  this  grieved  count  00 

Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night] 

Talk  with  a ruffian  at  her  cliam her- win' low  ; 

Who  hath  indeed,  most  like  a liberal  villain, 

Confess’d  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A thousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  John.  Fie,  fie  ! they  are  not  to  be  named,  my  lord, 
Not  to  be  spoke  of  ; 

There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language 
Without  offence  to  utter  them.  Thus,  pretty  lady, 

I am  sorry  for  thy  much  misgovernment.  ICO 

Claud.  0 Hero,  what  a Heio  liadst  thou  been, 

If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  be£n  placed 
About  thy  thoughts  at  d counsels  of  thy  heart  ! 

But  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair  I farewell. 

Thou  pure  impiety  and  impious  puiity  ! 

For  thee  I’ll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 

And  on  my  eyelids  shall  conjecture  hang, 

To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  liaim, 

And  never  shall  it  more  be  gra<  ious. 

Leon.  Hath  no  man’s  dagger  here  a point  for  me  ? 

[Hero  sicoons.  110 

Beat.  Why,  how  now,  cousin  ! wherefore  sink  you  down  ? 
JD.  John . Come,  let  us  go.  These  things,  come  thus  to 
light, 

Smother  her  spirits  up. 

i Exeunt  Hon  Pedro , Hon  John , and  Claudio . 
oth  the  lady  ? 

Beat.  Dead,  I think.  Hel*\  uncle  ! 

Hero  ! why,  Hero  ! Uncle  ! Signior  Benedick  ! Friar  1 
Leon.  O Fate  ! take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand. 

Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame 
That  may  be  wish’d  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Eero  ! 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.  Dost  thou  look  up  ? 120 

Friar.  Yea,  wherefore  should  she  not? 

Leon.  WTierefore  ! why,  doth  not  every  earthly  thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her?  Could  sliediere  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? 


41 


scene  l.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Do  not  live,  Hero  ; do  not  ope  thine  eyes  : 

For,  did  I think  thou  wouldst  not  quickly  die, 

Thought  I thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames, 
Myself  would,  oil  the  rearward  of  reproaches, 

Strike  at  thy  life.  Grieved  I,  I had  but  one? 

Chid  I for  that  at  frugal  nature’s  frame?  180 

O.  one  too  much  by  tliee  ! Why  had  I one? 

Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  uiy  eyes? 

Why  liad  I not  with  charitable  hand 
Took  up  a beggar’s  issue  at  my  gates, 

Who  smirch’d  thus  and  mired  with  infamy, 

I might  have  said  “ No  part  of  it  is  mine  ; 

This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  ”? 

But  mine  and  mine  I loved  and  mine  I praised 

And  mine  that  I was  proud  on,  mine  so  much 

That  I myself  was  to  myself  not  mine,  140 

Valuing  of  her,— why,  she,  0,  she  is  fallen 

Into  a pit  of  ink,  that  the  wide  sea 

Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again 

And  salt  too  little  which  may  season  give 

To  her  foul-tainted  flesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient. 

For  my  part,  I am  so  attired  in  wonder, 

I know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.  O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  ! 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly  not;  although,  until  last  night,  150 
I have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Confirm’d,  confirm’d  ! 0,  that  is  stronger  made 
Which  was  before  barr’d  up  with  ribs  of  iron? 

Would  the  two  princes  lie,  and  Claudio  lie, 

Who  loved  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 

Wash’d  it  with  tears  ? Hence  from  her  ! let  her  die. 

Friar.  Hear  me  a little  ; 

For  I have  only  silent  been  so  long, 

And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 

By  noting  of  the  lady  ; I have  mark’d  160 

A thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face  ; a thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  beat  away  those  blushes  ; 

And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear’d  a fire. 

To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth.  Call  me  a fool  ; 

Trust  not  my  reading  nor  my  observations, 

Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenour  of  my  book  ; trust  not  my  age, 

My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity, 


170 


42 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  iv. 

If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error. 

Leon.  Friar,  it  connot  be, 

Thou  seest  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left 
Is  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A sin  of  perjury  ; she  not  denies  it  : 

Why  seek’st  thou  then  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness  ? 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accused  of  ? 

Hero.  They  know  that  do  accuse  me  ; I know  none  : 

If  I know  more  of  any  man  alive  180 

Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 

Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  ! O my  father, 

Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  conversed 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I yesternight 
Maintain’d  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature, 

Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death  ! 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  misprision  in  the  princes. 

Bene.  Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour  ; 

And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 

The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard,  100 

Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanies. 

Leon.  I know  not.  If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her, 

These  hands  shall  tear  her  ; if  they  wrong  her  honour, 

The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 

Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 

Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 

Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 

Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends, 

But  they  shall  find,  awaked  in  such  a kind, 

Both  strength  of  limb  and  policy  of  mind,  200 

Ability  in  means  and  choice  of  friends, 

To  quit  me  of  them  thoroughly. 

Friar.  Pause  awhile, 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 

Your  daughter  here  the  princes  left  for  dead : 

Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in, 

And  publish  it  that  she  is  dead  indeed ; 

Maintain  a mourning  ostentation 

And  on  your  family’s  old  monument 

Hang  mournful  epitaphs  and  do  all  rites 

That  appertain  unto  a burial.  210 

Leon.  What  shall  become  of  this  ? what  will  this  do? 

Friar.  Marry,  this  well  carried  shall  on  her  behalf 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ; that  is  some  good  : 

But  not  for  that  dream  I on  this  strange  course, 

Bat  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 


scene  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


43 


Slie  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain’d, 

Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accused, 

Shall  be  lamented,  pitied  and  excused 
Of  every  hearer  : for  it  so  falls  out 

That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth  220 

Whiles  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  lack’d  and  lost, 

Why,  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 
The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours.  So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio  : 

When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his,  words. 

The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination, 

And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 

Shall  come  apparell’d  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving-delicate  and  full  of  life,  230 

Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 

Than  when  she  lived  indeed  ; then  shall  he  mourn, 

If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver, 

And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her, 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 

But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell’d  false, 

The  supposition  of  the  lady’s  death  240 

Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy  : 

And  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her, 

As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation, 

In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life, 

Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds  and  injuries. 

Bene.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you  : 

And  though  you  know  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 

Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I will  deal  in  this 

As  secretly  and  justly  as  your  soul  250 

Should  with  your  body. 

Leon . Being  that  I flow  in  grief. 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar . ’Tis  well  consented  : presently  away  ; 

For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the  cure. 

Come,  lady,  die  to  live  : this  wedding-day 

Perhaps  is  but  prolong’d  : have  patience  and  endure. 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Benedick  and  Beatrice, 

Bene.  Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I will  weep  a while  longer. 

Bene . I will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.  You  have  no  reason  ; I do  it  freely. 


260 


44 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  ir. 


Bene.  Surely  I do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wronged. 
Beat.  All,  liow  much  might  the  man  deserve  of  me  that 
would  right  her  ! 

Bene . Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship  ? 

Beat.  A very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Bene.  May  a man  do  it  ? 

Beat.  It  is  a man’s  office,  but  not  yours. 

Bene.  I do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as  you  : is 
not  that  strange?  270 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  Ihing  I know  not.  It  were  as 
possible  for  me  to  say  I loved  nothing  so  veil  as  you  . but 
believe  me  not  ; and  yet  I lie  not  ; 1 confess  nothing,  nor  I 
deny  nothing.  I am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me 
Beat.  Do  not  swear,  and  eat  it. 

j Bene.  I will  swear  by  it  that  you  love  me  ; and  I will 
make  him  eat  it  that  says  I love  not  3*011. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  eat  3*0111*  word  ? 280 

Bene  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it.  I protest 
I love  thee. 

Beat.  Why,  then,  God  forgive  me  ! 

Bene.  What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice? 

Beat.  You  have  stayed  me  in  a happy  hour  : I was  about 
to  protest  I loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  a'l  thy  heart. 

Beat  I love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart  that  none  is 
left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  anything  for  thee.  290 

Beat . Kill  Claudio. 

Bene . Ila  ! not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat  You  kill  me  to  deny  it.  Farewell. 

Bene  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I am  gone,  though  I am  hero  : thero  is  no  love  in 
you  • nay,  1 pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Bene.  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  In  faith,  I will  go. 

Bene.  We’ll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  he  friends  with  me  than  fight  with 
mine  enemy.  801 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a villain,  that 
hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kinswoman  ? O 
that  I were  a man ! What,  bear  her  in  hand  until  they 
come  to  take  hands  ; and  then,  with  public  accusation,  un- 
covered slander,  unmitigated  rancour, — O God,  that  I were 
a man  I I would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market  place* 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice, — 


810 


scene  it.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


45 


Beat.  Talk  with  a man  out  at  a window  ! A proper  say- 
ing ! 

Bene.  Nay,  but,  Beatrice,— 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero  ! Slie  is  wronged,  she  is  slandered, 
she  is  undone. 

Bene.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  counties  ! Surely,  a princely  testimony, 
a goodly  count  Count  Comfect ; a sweet  gallant,  surely  ! 
O that  I were  a man  for  his  sake  ! or  that  I had  any  friend 
would  be  a man  for  my  sake  ! But  manhood  is  melted  into 
courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and  men  are  only  turned 
into  tongue,  and  trim  ones  too  : he  is  now  as  valiant  as 
Hercules  that  only  tells  a lie  and  swears  it.  I cannot  be  a 
man  with  wishing,  therefore  I will  die  a woman  with  griev- 
ing. 

Bene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice.  By  this  hand,  I love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than  swearing 
by  it.  380 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  Count  Claudio  hath 
wronged  Hero  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I have  a thought  or  a soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I am  engaged  ; I will  challenge  Mm.  I 
will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I leave  you.  By  tiiis  hand, 
Claudio  shall  render  me  a dear  account.  As  you  hear  of  me, 
so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort  your  cousin  : I must  say  she 
is  dead  ; and  so,  farewell.  [Exeunt.  840 

Scene  II.  A prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Sexton,  in  gowns;  and 
the  Watch,  with  Conrade  and  Borachio. 

Dog.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared '? 

Verg.  O,  a stool  and  a cushion  for  the  sexton. 

Sex.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 

Dog.  Marry,  that  am  I and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that’s  certain  ; we  have  the  exhibition  to  ex- 
amine. 

Sex.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be  examined  ? 
let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dog.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.  What  is 
your  name,  friend?  11 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Dog.  Pray,  write  down,  Borachio.  Yours,  sirrah  ? 

Con.  I am  a gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Conrade. 

Dog.  Write  down,  master  gentleman  Conrade.  Masters, 
do  you  serve  God  ? 


46 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING-.  [act  it. 

CBora.  f Tea’  sir’  we  hope’ 

Dog.  Write  down,  that  they  hope  they  serve  God  : and 
write  God  first  ; for  God  defend  but  God  should  go  be- 
fore such  villains  ! Masters,  it  is  proved  already  that  you 
are  little  better  than  false  knaves  ; and  it  will  go  near  to  be 
thought  so  shortly.  How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dog.  A marvellous  witty  fellow,  I assure  you  ; but  I will 
go  about  with  him.  Come  you  hither,  sirrah  ; a word  in 
your  ear  : sir,  I say  to  you,  it  is  thought  you  are  false 
knaves.  30 

Bora.  Sir,  I say  to  you  we  are  none. 

Dog.  Well,  stand  aside.  'Fore  God,  they  are  both  in  a 
tale.  Have  you  writ  down,  that  they  are  none  ? 

Sex.  Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to  examine  : 
you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are  their  accusers. 

Dog.  Yea,  marry,  that’s  the  eftest  way.  Let  the  watch 
come  forth.  Masters,  I charge  you,  in  the  prince’s  name, 
accuse  these  men.  40 

First.  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
prince’s  brother,  was  a villain. 

Dog.  Write  down  Prince  John  a villain.  Why,  this  is 
flat  perjury,  to  call  a prince’s  brother  villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable, — 

Dog.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace  : I do  not  like  thy  look,  I 
promise  thee. 

Sex.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

Sec.  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a thousand  ducats 
of  Don  John  for  accusing  the  lady  Hero  wrongfully.  51 

Dog.  Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 

Verg.  Yea,  by  mass,  that  it  is. 

Sex.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

First.  Watch.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon  his 
words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  assembly,  and  not 
marry  her. 

Dog.  O villain  ! thou  wilt  be  condemned  into  everlasting 
redemption  for  this. 

Sex.  What  else?  60 

W'atch.  This  is  all. 

Sex.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny.  Prince 
John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen  away  ; Hero  was  in  this 
manner  accused,  in  this  very  manner  refused,  and  upon  the 
grief  of  this  suddenly  died.  Master  constable,  let  these  men 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato’s : I will  go  before  and 
show  him  their  examination.  [Exit. 

Dog.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 


47 


scene  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Verg.  fLet  them  be  in  the  hands — 70 

Con.  Oil,  coxcomb  ! 

Dog.  God’s  my  life,  where’s  the  sexton  ? let  him  write 
down  the  prince’s  officer  coxcomb.  Come,  bind  them.  Thou 
naughty  varlet  ! 

Con.  Away  ! you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Dog.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  ? dost  thou  not  sus- 
pect my  years  ? O that  he  were  here  to  write  me  down  an 
ass  ! But,  masters,  remember  that  I am  an  ass  ; though  it 
be  not  written  down,  vet  forget  not  that  I am  an  ass.  No, 
thou  villain,  thau  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved  upon 
thee  by  good  witness.  I am  a wise  fellow,  and,  which  is 
more,  an  officer,  and,  which  is  more,  a householder,  and, 
which  is  more,  as  pretty  a piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina, 
and  one  that  knows  the  law,  go  to  ; and  a rich  fellow  enough, 
go  to  ; and  a fellow  that  hath  had  losses,  and  one  that  hath 
two  gowns  and  everything  handsome  about  him.  Bring  him 
away.  O that  I had  been  writ  down  an  ass  I [ Exeunt . 90 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  Before  Leonato’s  house . 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Ant.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself  ; 

And  ’tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a sieve  : give  not  me  counsel  ; 

Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear 
But  such  a one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine. 

Bring  me  a father  that  so  loved  his  child, 

Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelm’d  like  mine, 

And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 10 

Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain, 

As  thus  for  thus  and  such  a grief  for  such, 

In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form  : 

If  such  a one  will  smile  and  stroke  his  beard, 
fBid  sorrow  wag,  cry  “ hem”  when  he  should  groan, 

Batch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  misfortune  drunk 
With  candle- wasters  ; bring  him  yet  to  me, 

And  I of  him  will  gather  patience. 

But  there  is  no  such  man  : for,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 


20 


48 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  V. 


Wliicli  they  themselves  not  feel  ; hut,  tasting  it, 

Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  precept ial  medicine  to  rage, 

Fetter  strong  madness  in  a silken  thread, 

Charm  ache  with  air  and  agony  with  words  : 

No,  no  ; ’tis  all  men’s  office  to  speak  patience 
To  those  that  ring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 

But  no  man’s  virtue  nor  sufficienc  y 

To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure  80 

The  like  himself.  Therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisements. 

Ant.  Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Leon.  1 pray  thee,  peace.  I will  be  flesh  and  blood  ; 

For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently, 

However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods 
And  made  a push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself  ; 

Make  those  that  do  offend  you  suffer  too.  40 

Leon.  There  thou  speak’st  teason  : nay,  I will  do  so. 

My  soul  doth  tell  me  Hero  is  belied  ; 

And  that  shall  Claudio  know  ; so  shall  the  prince 
And  all  of  them  that  thus  dishonour  her. 

Ant.  Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio  hastily. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den. 

C laud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.  Hear  you,  my  lords, — 

D.  Pedro . We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.  Some  haste,  my  lord  ! well,  fare  you  well,  my 
lord : 

Are  you  so  hasty  now?  well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro . Nav,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man.  50 
Ant.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarreling. 

Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  v'rongs  him  ? 

Leon.  Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me ; thou  dissembler, 
thou *— 

Nay.  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword  ; 

I fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand, 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear  . 

In  faith,  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Lean.  Tush,  tush,  man  ; never  fleer  and  jest  at  me  : 

I speak  not  like  a doard  nor  a fool, 

As  under  privilege  of  age  to  brag 


60 


SCENE  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  49 

What  I have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do 
Were  I not  old.  Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head, 

Thou  hast  so  wrong’d  mine  innocent  cluld  and  me 
That  I am  forced  to  lay  my  reverence  by 
And,  with  grey  hairs  and  bruise  of  many  days, 

Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a man. 

I say  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child  ; 

Thy  slander  luth  gone  through  and  through  her  heart, 

And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors  ; 

O,  in  a tomb  where  never  scandal  slept,  70 

Save  this  of  hers,  framed  by  thy  viilany  ! 

Claud . My  viilany  ? 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio  ; thine,  I say. 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord. 

I’ll  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare, 

Despite  his  nice  fence  and  his  active  practice, 

His  May  of  youth  and  bloom  of  lustiliood. 

Claud.  Away  ! I will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Leon.  Canst  thou  so  daff  me?  Thou  hast  kill’d  my 
child  : 

If  thou  kill’st  me,  boy,  thou  slialt  kill  a man. 

Ant.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  * 80 

But  that’s  no  matter  ; let  him  kill  one  first ; 

Win  me  and  wear  me  ; let  him  answer  me. 

Come,  follow  me,  boy  ; come,  sir  boy.  come,  follow  me  : 

Sir  boy,  I’ll  whip  you  from  your  foining  fence  ; 

Nay.  as  I am  a gentleman,  I will. 

Leon  Brother, — 

Ant.  Content  yourself.  God  knows  I loved  my  niece  ; 
And  she  is  dead,  slander’d  to  death  by  villains. 

That  dare  as  well  answer  a man  indeed 

As  1 dare  take  a serpent  by  the  tongue  : 90 

Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops  ! 

Leon.  Brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Hold  you  content.  What,  man  ! I know  them, 
yea, 

And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple, — 
Scambling,  out  facing,  fashion-monging  boys, 

That  lie  and  cog  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 

Go  anticlv,  show  outward  hideousness, 

And  speak  off  half  a dozen  dangerous  words, 

IIow  they  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst ; 

And  this  is  all. 

Leon . But,  brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Come,  His  no  matter  : 100 

Po  not  you  meddle  ; let  me  dSal  in  this. 


50  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  V. 

D.  Pedro.  Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake  your  pa- 
tience. 

My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter’s  death  : 

But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charged  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

JD.  Pedro.  I will  not  hear  you. 

Leon.  No  ? Come,  brother  ; away  ! I will  be  heard. 

Ant.  And  shall,  or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Antonio . 

D.  Pedro . See,  see  ; here  comes  the  man  we  went  to 
seek.  110 

Enter  Benedick. 

Claud.  Now,  signior,  what  news  ? 

Bene.  Good  day,  my  lord. 

I).  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior  : you  are  almost  come  to 
part  almost  a fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snapped 
off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother.  What  tliinkest 
thou  ? Had  we  fought,  I doubt  we  should  have  been  too 
young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.  I came 
to  seek  you  both.  121 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee  ; for  we 
are  high  proof  melancholy  and  would  fain  have  it  beaten 
away.  Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit  ? 

Bene.  It  is  in  my  scabbard  : shall  I draw  it  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many  have  been 
beside  their  wit.  I will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we  do  the  min- 
strels ; draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

j D.  Pedro.  As  I am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale.  Art 
thou  sick  or  angry  ? 131 

Claud.  What,  courage,  man  ! What  though  care  killed 
a cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  as  you 
charge  it  against  me.  I pray  you  choose  another  subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then,  give  him  another  staff  : this  last  was 
broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and  more  : I 
think  he  be  angry  indeed.  141 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle. 

Bene.  Shall  I speak  a word  in  your  ear? 

• • Claud: ; God  bless  me  from  a challenge  ! 

Bene.  [Aside  to  Claudio]  You  are  a villain  ; l jest  not  ? 


SCENE  I.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  51 

I will  make  it  good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and 
when  you  dare.  Do  me  right,  or  I will  protest  your  coward- 
ice. You  have  killed  a sweet  lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall 
heavy  on  you.  Let  me  hear  from  you.  151 

Claud.  Well,  I will  meet  you,  so  I may  have  good  cheer. 

D.  Pedro.  What,  a feast,  a feast  ? 

Claud.  V faith,  I thank  him  ; he  hath  bid  to  me  a calf’s 
head  and  a capon ; the  which  if  I do  not  carve  most  curious- 
ly, say  my  knife’s  naught.  Shall  I not  find  a woodcock 
too  ? 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well  ; it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I’ll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy  wit  the 
other  day.  I said,  thou  hadsta  fine  wit  : “ True,”  said  she, 
“ a fine  little  one.”  “ No,”  said  I,  “ a great  wit :”  “ Right,” 
says  she,  ‘‘a  great  gross  one.”  4 ‘ Nay,”  said  I,  “a  good 
wit:”  “Just,”  said  she,  “it  hurts  nobody.”  “Nay,” 
said  I,  “the  gentleman  is  wise  “ Certain,”  said  she,  “a 
wise  gentleman.”  “ Nay,”  said  I,  “ he  hath  the  tongues 
“ That  I believe,”  said  she,  “ for  he  swore  a thing  to  me 
on  Monday  night,  which  he  forswore  on  Tuesday  morning  ; 
there’s  a double  tongue  ; there’s  two  tongues.”  Thus  did 
she,  an  hour  together,  trans-shape  thy  particular  virtues  : 
yet  at  last  she  concluded  with  a sigh,  thou  wast  the  proper- 
est  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily  and  said  she 
cared  not. 

D.  Pedro . Yea,  that  she  did  ; but  yet,  for  all  that,  an  if 
she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love  him  dearly  : 
the  old  man’s  daughter  told  us  all.  180 

Claud.  All,  all  ; and,  moreover,  God  saw  him  when  he 
was  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull’s  horns 
on  the  sensible  Benedick’s  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath,  “Here  dwells  Bene- 
dick the  married  man  ” ? 

bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy : you  know  my  mind.  I 
will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour  : you  break 
jests  as  braggarts  do  tlieir  blades,  which,  God  be  thanked, 
hurt  not.  My  lord,  for  your  many  courtesies  I thank  you  : 
I must  discontinue  your  company  : your  brother  the  bastard 
is  fled  from  Messina  : you  have  among  you  killed  a sweet 
and  innocent  lady.  For  my  lord  Lackbeard  there,  he  and  I 
shall  meet : and,  till  then,  peace  be  with  him.  [Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest ; afid,  I’ll  warrant  you, 
for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro . And  hath  challenged  thee,  200 


52 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  r. 


Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a pretty  tiling  man  is  when  he  goes  in 
his  doublet  and  hose  and  leaves  off  his  wit ! 

Claud.  He  is  then  a giant  to  an  ape  ; but  then  is  an  ape 
a doctor  to  such  a man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  me  be  • pluck  up,  my  heart, 
and  be  sad.  Did  he  not  say  my  brother  was  fled  ? 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  uith  Conrade 
and  BoRACHro. 

Dog.  Come  you,  sir  : if  justice  cannot  tame  you,  she  shall 
ne’er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  balance  : nay,  and  you  be 
a cursing  hypocrite  once,  you  must  be  looked  to. 

D.  Pedro.  How  now  ? two  of  my  brother’s  men  bound  ! 
Boracliio  one  ! 

Claud.  Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro . Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men  done? 

Dog.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  report  ; 
moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ; secondarily,  they 
are  slanders  ; sixth  and  lastly,  they  have  belied  a lady  ; 
thirdly  they  have  verified  unjust  things  ; and,  to  conclude, 
they  are  lying  knaves. 

I).  Pedro.  First,  I ask  thee  what  they  have  done  ; thirdly, 
I ask  thee  what’s  their  offence  ; sixth  and  lastly,  why  ihey 
are  committed  ; and,  to  conclude,  what  you  lay  to  their 
charge. 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ; and, 
by  my  troth,  th  re’s  one  meaning  well  suited.  231 

D.  Pedro.  Who  have  you  offended,  masters,  that  you 
are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  ? this  learned  constable  is 
too  cunning  to  be  understood  : what’s  your  offence? 

Bora.  Sweet  princ  *,  let  me  go  no  farther  to  mine  answer  : 
do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count  kill  me.  I have  de- 
ceived even  your  very  eyes  : what  your  wisdoms  could  not 
discover,  these  shallow  fools  have  brought  to  light ; whom 
the  night  overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man  how  Don 
John  your  brother  incensed  me  to  slander  the  Lady  Hero, 
how  you  were  brought  into  the  orchard  and  saw  me  court 
Margaret  in  Hero’s  garments,  how  you  disgraced  her,  when 
you  should  marry  her  : my  villanv  they  have  upon  record  ; 
which  1 had  rather  seal  with  my  death  than  repeat  over  to 
my  shame.  The  lady  is  dead  upon  mine  and  my  master’s 
false  accusation  ; and,  briefly,  I desire  nothing  but  the  re- 
ward of  a villain. 

D.  Pedro . Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your 
blood? 

Claud.  I have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter’d  it. 


SCENE  i.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING-.  53 

D.  Pedro.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  onto  this? 

Bora.  Yea,  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 

I).  Pedro.  He  is  composed  and  framed  of  treachery  : 

And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villany. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  ! now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I loved  it  first.  260 

Dog.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs  : by  this  time  our 
sexton  hath  reformed  Signior  Leonato  of  the  matter  : and, 
masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify,  when  time  and  place  shall 
serve,  that  I am  an  ass. 

Verg.  Here,  here  comes  master  Signior  Leonato,  and  the 
sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  icith  the  Sexton. 

Leon.  Which  is  the  villain  ? let  mo  see  his  eyes, 

That,  when  I note  another  man  like  him,  270 

I may  avoid  him  : which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bora.  If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  look  on  me. 

Leon.  Art  thou  the  slave  that  wit  j thy  breath  hast  kill’d 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain  ; tliou  beliest  thyself  : 

Here  stand  a pair  of  honourable  men  ; 

A third  is  fled,  that  had  a hand  in  it. 

I iliank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter’s  death  : 

Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds  : 

’Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claud.  I know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience  ; 

Yet  I must  sp  ak.  Choose  your  revenge  yourself  ; 

Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  . yet  siun’d  I not 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I : 

x\nd  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 

I would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he’ll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live  ; 

That  were  impossible  : but,  I pray  you  both, 

Possess  the  people  in  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died  ; and  if  your  lovo 
Can  labour  ought  in  sad  invention. 

Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones,  sing  it  to-night  • 

To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house. 

And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son  in-law, 

Be  yet  my  nephew  : my  brother  hath  a daughter, 

Almo  t the  copy  of  my  child  that’s  dead, 


54 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  v. 


And  she  alone  is  lieir  to  both  of  us  : 

Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin,  800 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O noble  sir, 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me  ! 

I do  embrace  your  offer  ; and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.  To-morrow  then  I will  expect  your  c ming  : 
To-night  I take  my  leave.  This  naughty  man 
Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 

Who  I believe  was  pack’d  in  all  this  wrong, 

Hired  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not, 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did  when  she  spoke  to  me,  310 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous 
In  any  thing  that  I do  know  by  her. 

Bog.  Moreover,  sir,  which  indeed  is  not  under  white 
and  black,  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did  call  me 
ass  : I beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered  in  his  punishment. 
And  also,  the  watch  heard  them  talk  of  one  Deformed  : 
they  say  lie  wears  a key  in  his  ear  and  a lock  hanging  by  it, 
and  borrows  money  in  God’s  name,  the  which  he  hath  used 
so  long  and  never  paid  that  now  men  grow  hard-hearted  and 
will  lend  nr  thing  for  God’s  sake:  pray  you,  examine  him 
upon  that  point. 

Ijeon.  I thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dog.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a most  thankful  and  rev- 
erend youth  ; and  I praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.  There’s  for  thy  pains. 

Dog . God  save  the  foundation  ! 

Leon.  Go,  I discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and  I thank 
thee. 

Dog.  I leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship  ; which 
I beseech  your  worship  to  correct  yourself  for  the  example 
of  others.  God  keep  your  worship  ! I wish  your  worship 
well ; God  restore  you  to  health  ! I humbly  give  you  leave 
to  depart  ; and  if  a merry  meeting  may  be  wished,  God  pro- 
hibit it ! Come,  neighbour. 

[Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

Ant.  Farewell,  my  lords  : we  look  for  you  to-morrow. 

D.  Pedro.  We  will  not  fail. 

Claud.  To-night  I’ll  mourn  with  Hero. 

Leon.  [To  the  Watch]  Bring  you  these  fellows  on.  We’ll 
talk  with  Margaret,  840 

How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd  fellow. 

[Exeunt > severally. 


SCENE  II.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


55 


Scene  II.  Leonato’s  garden. 

Enter  Benedick  and  Margaret,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  tliee,  sweet  Mistress  Margaret,  deserve  well 
at  my  hands  by  helping  me  to  the  speech  of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you  then  write  me  a sonnet  in  praise  of  my 
beauly  ? 

Bene.  In  so  high  a style,  Margaret,  that  no  man  living 
shall  come  over  it ; for,  in  most  comely  truth,  thou  deservest 
it. 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  ! why,  shall  I al- 
ways keep  below  stairs  ? 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound’s  mouth ; it 
catches. 

Marg.  And  yours  as  blunt  as  the  fencer’s  foils,  which  hit 
but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A most  manly  wit,  Margaret ; it  will  not  hurt  a 
woman  : and  so,  I pray  tliee,  call  Beatrice  : I give  thee  the 
bucklers. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  swords  ; we  have  bucklers  of  our  own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put  in  the 
pikes  with  a vice  ; and  they  are  dangerous  weapons  for 
maids. 

Marg.  Well,  I will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who  I think 
hath  legs. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come.  [Exit  Margaret. 

[Sings]  The  god  of  love, 

That  sits  above, 

And  knows  me,  and  knows  me. 

How  pitiful  I deserve, — 

I mean  in  singing ; but  in  loving,  Leander  the  good  swim- 
mer, Troilus  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and  a whole 
bookful  of  these  quondam  carpet-mongers,  whose  names 
yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road  of  a blank  verse,  why,  they 
were  never  so  truly  turned  over  and  over  as  my  poor  self  in 
love.  Marry,  I cannot  show  it  in  rhyme  ; I have  tried : I 
can  find  out  no  rhyme  to  “ lady”  but  “ baby,”  an  innocent 
rhyme  ; for  “scorn,”  “horn,”  a hard  rhyme  ; for  “school,” 
“ fool,”  a babbling  rhyme;  very  ominous  endings:  no,  I 
was  not  born  under  a rhyming  planet,  nor  I cannot  woo  in 
festival  terms.  41 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  wouldst  thou  come  when  I called  thee? 

Beat'.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 


56  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  f ACT  V. 

Bene.  O,  stay  but  till  tlien  ! 

Beat.  * * Then  ” is  spoken  ; fare  you  well  now  : and  yet, 
ere  I go,  let  me  go  with  that  I came  ; which  is,  with  know- 
ing wliat  hath  passed  between  you  and  Claudio.  50 

Bene.  Only  foul  words  : and  thereupon  I will  kiss  thee. 

Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind  is  but 
fo^l  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome  ; therefore  1 will  de- 
part unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  right  sense, 
so  forcible  is  thy  wit.  But  I must  tell  thee  plainly,  Claudio 
undergoes  my  challenge  ; and  either  I must  shortly  hear 
from  him,  or  I will  subscribe  him  a coward.  And,  I pray 
thee  now,  tell  me  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first 
fall  in  love  with  me  ? 61 

Beat.  For  them  all  together  ; which  maintained  so  politic 
a state  of  evil  that  they  will  not  admit  any  good  part  to  in- 
termingle  with  them.  But  for  which  of  my  good  parts  did 
you  first  suffer  love  for  me  ? 

Bene.  Suffer  love  ! a good  epliitliet  ! I do  suffer  love  in- 
deed,  for  I love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I think  ; alas,  poor  heart  ! 
If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I will  spite  it  for  you.s  ; for  I 
will  never  love  that  which  my  friend  hates. 

Bene.  Thou  and  I are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession  : there’s  not  one 
wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise  himself. 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  lived  in  the 
time  of  good  neighbours.  If  a man  do  not  erect  in  this  age 
his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he  shall  live  no  longer  in  monu- 
ment than  the  bell  rings  and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 

Bene.  Question  : why,  an  hour  in  clamour  and  a quarter 
jn  rheum  . therefore  is  it  most  expedient  for  the  wise,  if 
Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find  no  impediment  to  the  con- 
trary, to  be  the  trumpet  of  his  own  virtues,  as  I am  to  myself. 
So  much  for  praising  myself,  who,  I myself  will  bear  witness, 
is  praiseworthy  . and  now  tell  me,  how  doth  your  cousin? 

Beat.  Very  ill. 

Bene.  And  how  do  you? 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  Go.l,  love  me  and  mend.  There  will  I leave 
you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 

TJn.  Madam,  you  must  conic  to  your  uncle.  Yonder’s 
old  coil  at  home  : it  is  proved  my  Lady  Hero  hath  been 
falsely  accused,  the  prince  and  Claudio  mightily  abused  \ 


SCENE  III.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


07 


and  Don  John  is  the  author  of  all,  who  is  tied  and  gone. 
Will  you  come  presently? 

Beat.  Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior? 

Bene.  I will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap  and  be  buried 
in  thy  eyes  ; and  moreover  I will  go  with  thee  to  thy  uncle’s. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  A church . 

Enter  Don  Pedko,  Claudio,  and  three  or  four  with  tapers. 
Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato? 

A Lord.  It  is.  my  lord. 

Claud.  {Beading  out  of  a scroll .] 

Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 
Was  the  Hero  that  li:re  lies  : 

Death,  in  guerdon  >f  her  wrongs, 

Gives  her  fame  which  : . ever  dies. 

So  the  life  that  died  with  chame 
Lives  in  death  with  .'yloriouc  fame. 

ITansr  thou  there  upon  die  ';omb. 

Praising  her  when  I am  dumb.  10 

Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  soiemn  hymn. 

Song. 

Pardon,  goddess  of  the  night, 

Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight ; 

For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe. 

Hound  her  tomb  they  go. 

Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 

Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavily,  heavily  . 

Graves,  yawn  and  yield  your  dead, 

Till  death  be  uttered,  20 

Heavily,  heavily. 

Claud.  Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night ! 

Yearly  will  I do  this  rite. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow,  masters  ; put  your  torches  out : 
The  wolves  have  prey’d  : and  look,  the  gentle  day, 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  grey. 

Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us  fare  you  well. 

Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters  each  his  several  way, 

JD.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other  weeds  ; 
And  then  to  Leonato’s  wo  will  go.  31 


58 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


[act  y 


Claud.  And  Hymen  now  with,  luckier  issue  speed's 
Than  this  for  whom  we  rendered  up  this  woe.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.  A room  in  Leonato’s  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice,  Marga- 
ret, Ursula,  Friar  Francis,  and  Hero. 

Eriar.  Did  I not  tell  you  she  was  innocent? 

Leon.  So  are  the  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accused  her 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 

But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this. 

Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

Ant.  Well,  I am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Bene.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforced 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a reckoning  for  it. 

Leon.  Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all,  10 
Withdraw  into  a chamber  by  yourselves, 

And  when  I send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd. 

[Exeunt  Ladies . 

The  prince  and  Claudio  promised  by  this  hour 
rio  visit  me.  You  know  your  office,  brother  : 

You  must  be  father  to  your  brother’s  daughter. 

And  give  her  to  young  Claudio. 

Ant.  Which  I will  do  with  confirm'd  countenance. 

Bene.  Friar,  I must  entreat  your  pains,  I think. 

Friar.  To  do  what,  signior  ? 

Bene . To  bind  me,  or  undo  me  : one  of  them.  20 

Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior. 

Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  : 'tis  most  true. 
Bene.  And  I do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 

Leon.  The  sight  whereof  I think  you  had  from  me, 

From  Claudio  and  the  prince  : but  wliat’s  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical : 

But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is  your  good  will 

May  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 

In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage  : 80 

In  which,  good  friar,  I shall  desire  your  help. 

Leon.  My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 

Friar . And  my  help. 

Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  and  two  or  three  others. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

Leon.  Good  morrow,  prince  ; good  morrow,  Claudio  : 

We  here  attend  you.  Are  you  yet  determined 


59 


SCENE  IY.J  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother’s  daughter  ? 

Claud.  I’ll  hold  my  mind,  were  she  an  Etliiope. 

Leon.  Call  her  forth,  brother  ; here’s  the  friar  ready. 

[Exit  Antonio. 

JD.  Pedro.  Good  morrow,  Benedick.  Why,  what’s  the 
matter,  40 

That  you  have  such  a February  face, 

So  full  of  frost,  of  storm  and  cloudiness? 

Claud.  I think  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull. 

Tush,  fear  not,  man  ; we’ll  tip  thy  horns  with  gold 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee, 

As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 

When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.  Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ; 

And  some  such  strange  bull  leap’d  your  father’s  cow, 

And  got  a calf  in  that  same  noble  feat  50 

Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Claud.  For  this  I owe  you  : here  comes  other  reckonings. 

Be-cnter  Antonio,  with  the  Ladies  masked . 

Which  is  the  lady  I must  seize  upon  ? 

Ant.  This  same  is  she,  and  I do  give  you  her. 

Claud.  Why,  then  she’s  mine.  Sweet,  let  me  see  your 
face. 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  this  friar  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  . before  this  holy  friar, 

I am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I lived,  I was  your  other  wife  • 60 

[ Unmasking . 

And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 

Claud.  Another  Hero  ! 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer  : 

One  Hero  died  defiled,  but  I do  live. 

And  surely  as  I live,  I am  a maid. 

D Pedro.  The  former  Hero  ! Hero  that  is  dead  ! 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander  lived. 
Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I qualify  ; 

When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 

I’ll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero’s  death  : 

Meantime  let  wonder  seem  familiar,  70 

And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar.  Which  is  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  [ Unmasking ] I answer  to  that  name.  What  is 
your  will  ? 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me? 

Beat  A Why,  no  ; no  more  than  reason. 


60  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act 

Bene.  Why,  then  your  uncle  and  the  prince  and  Claudio 
Have  been  deceived  ; they  swore  you  did. 

Beat.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  no  ; no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.  Why,  then  my  cousin  Margaret  and  Ursula 
Are  much  deceived  ; for  they  did  swear  you  did. 

Bene.  They  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick  for  me.  80 

Beat.  They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead  for  me. 

Bene.  ’Tis  no  such  matter.  Then  you  do  not  love  me? 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  lecompense. 

Leon.  Come,  cousin,  I am  sure  you  love  the  gentleman. 

Claud.  And  I’ll  be  sworn  upon’t  that  he  loves  her  ; 

For  here’s  a paper  written  in  liis  own  hand, 

A halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  br..in, 

Fashion’d  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here’s  another 

Writ  in  my  cousin’s  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  affection  unto  Benedick.  90 

Bene.  A miracle ! here’s  our  own  hands  against  our 
hearts.  Come,  I will  have  thee  ; but,  by  this  light,  I take 
thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I would  not  deny  you  ; but,  by  this  good  day,  I 
yield  upon  great  persuasion  ; and  partly  to  save  your  life, 
for  I was  told  you  were  in  a consumption. 

Bene.  Peace  ! I will  stop  your  mouth.  [Kissing  her. 

T>.  Pedro.  How  dost  thou,  Bened  ck,  the  married  man  ? 

Bene.  I’ll  tell  thee  what,  prince  ; a college  of  wit  crackers 
cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour.  Dost  thou  think  I care 
for  a satire  or  an  epigram?  No:  if  a man  will  be  beaten 
with  brains,  a’  shall  wear  nothing  handsome  about  him.  In 
brief,  since  I do  purpose  to  marry,  I will  think  nothing  to 
any  purpose  that  the  world  can  say  against  it  ; and  there- 
fore never  flout  at  me  for  what  I have  said  against  it  ; for 
man  is  a g ddv  thing,  and  this  is  my  conclusion.  For  thy 
part,  Claudio,  I did  think  to  In  ve  beaten  thee  ; but  in  that 
thou  art  like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live  unbruised  and  love  my 
cousin. 

Claud.  I had  well  hoped  thou  wouldst  have  denied  Beat- 
rice, that  I might  have  cudgelled  t.  ee  out  of  thy  single  life, 
to  make  thee  a double-dealer  ; which,  out  of  question,  thou 
wilt  be,  if  my  cousin  do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to 
thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends  : let’s  have  a dance  ere 
we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  our  own  hearts  and 
our  wives’  heels.  121 

Leon.  We’ll  have  dancing  afterward. 

Bene.  First,  of  my  word  ; therefore  play,  music.  • Prince, 


ueairanr.]  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  61 

thou  art  sad  ; get  thee  a wife,  get  thee  a wife  : there  is  no 
staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipped  with  horn. 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta’en  in  flight, 

And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow  : I’ll  devise  thee 
brave  punishments  for  him.  Strike  up,  pipers.  130 

\l)ance . Exeunt. 


- v.-vv; 

. 

■ 


\ / 


PUBLISHERS’  NOTICE. 


The  text  of  this  play  is  that  of  the  “ Globe  edition/' 
with  the  exception  that  in  passages  left  conjectural  by  the 
Globe  editors,  the  readings  from  the  text  of  Dyce’s  last 
edition  are  substituted.  The  numbering  of  the  lines  is 
that  of  the  Globe  edition,  this  numbering  being  now  uni- 
versally accepted  as  the  most  convenient  means  of  refer- 
ence to  particular  passages. 


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\ You  Like  It. 

King  John. 

King  Henry  V. 

King  Richard  ill.  - 


King  Henry  VHL 
Romeo  and  Juliet. 
Julius  Caesar. 
Macbeth. 

Hamlet. 

King  Lear. 

Othello. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 


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ARGUMENT. 


Othello,  of  Moorish  birth,  by  his  warlike  talents 
and  bravery  had  reached  the  highest  rank  in  the  army 
of  the  Republic  of  Venice,  which  on  several  occasions 
entrusted  him  with  the  command  of  her  forces.  Victo- 
rious in  many  battles,  he  could  not  fail  to  excite  the 
envy  of  the  patricians,  who  combined  together  to  ruin 
him.  Othello  loved  Desdemona,  the  daughter  of  Elmiro, 
and  his  love  was  by  her  secretly  reciprocated.  But  her 
father,  a powerful  nobleman,  wishing  her  to  marry 
Roderigo,  the  son  of  another  general  of  the  army, 
joined  Othello’s  enemies,  and  succeeded  in  having  him 
exiled.  But  this  was  far  from  satisfying  the  hatred  of 
Iago,  whose  love  had  been  rejected  by  Desdemona,  and 
he  meditated  a more  cruel  vengeance.  By  the  most 
subtle  arts,  working  on  the  natural  jealousy  of  the 
Moor,  he  succeeded  in  persuading  him  that  his  be- 
trothed was  unfaithful  to  her  vows  ; and  in  order  to  con- 
vince him,  showed  a forged  letter  supposed  to  have  been 
written  by  Desdemona  to  her  new  lover.  Othello,  bent 
on  revenge,  with  the  help  of  the  traitor  Iago,  finds 
means  to  introduce  himself  into  Desdemona’s  apartments, 
and,  maddened  with  jealousy,  plunges  a dagger  in  her 
heart,  while  in  her  sleep  she  dreams  of  love  and  Othello  ; 
and,  unwilling  to  survive  her,  kills  himself  with  the 
same  weapon. 


... 

- 

— *.  . 

. 

■ 

. -J:i  . ....  _ , 

' - -V  , . . ' ‘ ; : -i 

•.  - / ' - ' J’./l  t&id 

* 

. 

■ 

. 


dMjjelln 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Otello,  . 

. Signor  Bellini, 

Desdemona, 

. Signora  Bertucca  Maretzek. 

Elmiro.  . 
Rodrigo,  . 

. Signor  Marini. 
. Signor  Vietti. 

Iago, 

Emil  4,  . 

. Signor  Beneventano, 
. Signora  Avogadro. 

ATTO  I. 


SCENA  I. 

La  Scena  rappresenta  la  Piazzetta  di  San  Marco , in  fondo 
della  quale  fra  le  colonne  si  vede  il  Popolo , che  attends 
festoso  lo  sbarco  di  Otello.  Navi  in  distanza . 

Doge,  Elmiro,  Senatori;  indi  Otello,  Iago,  Rod- 
rigo, seguito  dalle  Schiere. 

Popolo. 

Viva  Otello  ! viva  il  prode 
Delle  schiere  invitto  duce  ! 

Or  per  lui  di  nuova  luce 
Torna  P Adria  a sfolgorar* 

Lui  guido  virtu  fra  P armi ; 

Milito  con  lui  fortuna  : 

Si  oscuro  P Odrisia  luna, 

Del  suo  brando  al  fulminar. 

[Sbarcato  Otel.,  si  avanza  verso  del 
Doge  al  suono  d)  una  marcia  mili - 
tare,  seguito  da  I Ago,  e da  Rod. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. 

The  Scene  represents  the  Piazzetta  of  St  Mark,  at  the 
extremity  of  which , between  the  two  columns , is  seen 
the  People , who  joyfully  await  the  landing  of  Othello. 
Ships  in  the  distance . 

Doge,  Elmiro,  Senators  ; then  Othello,  Iago,  Rode- 
rigo,  followed  by  Soldiers . 

People. 

Long  live  Othello  ! long  live  our  valiant 
And  unconquered  leader ! 

Through  him  does  Adria 
Shine  again  with  new  splendor. 

Valor  in  arms  was  his  guide ; 

Fortune  combatted  at  his  side  : 

The  crescent  of  Odrissa  has  grown  pale 
Beneath  the  lightning  of  his  sword. 

[Oth.,  being  landed , advances  towards  the 
Doge  to  the  sound  of  military  music,  fol- 
* - lowed  by  Iago  and  Rod. 


OTELLO. 


Otel.  Vincemmo,  o padri.  I perfidi  nemici 
Caddero  estinti.  A1  lor  furor  ritolsi, 

Sicura  ormai  d?  ogni  futura  offesa, 

Cipro,  di  questo  suol  forza  e difesa. 

NulP  altro  a oprar  mi  resta.  Ecco  vi  rendo 
L’  acciar  temuto,  e delle  vinte  schiere 
Depongo  al  vostro  piede,  armi  e bandiere. 

Doge.  Qual  premio  al  tuo  valor 
Chieder  potrai  7 

Otel.  Mi  compensaste  assai 

NelP  affidarvi  in  me.  D?  Affrica  figlio, 

Qui  straniero  son  io.  Ma  se  ancor  serbo 
Un  cor  degno  di  voi ; se  questo  suolo 
Piu  cbe  patria  rispetto,  ammiro  ed  amo, 

M’  abbia  P Adria  qual  figlio  ; altro  non  bramo. 

Iago.  (Che  superba  richiesta  !) 

Rod.  (Ai  voti  del  mio  cor  fatale  & questa !) 

Doge.  Tu  d’  ogni  gloria  il  segno 

Vincitor  trascorresti ; il  brando  invitto 
Riponi  al  fianco,  e gia  delP  Adria  figlio 
Vieni  tra  i plausi  a coronarti  il  crine 
Del  meritato  alloro. 

Rod.  (Dunque  perder  dovro  colei  che  adoro  ?) 

[a  Iago. 

Otel.  Ah  ! si,  per  voi  gia  sento 
Nuovo  valor  nel  petto  : 

Per  voi  d?  un  nuovo  affetto 
Sento  infiammarsi  il  cor. 

Premio  maggior  di  questo 
Da  me  sperar  non  lice. 

(Ma  allor  sard  felice 
Quando  il  coroni  amor.) 


OTHELLO. 


9 

Oth.  Fathers,  we  have  conquered.  Our  perfidious 
enemies 

Have  fallen,  to  rise  no  more.  I have  rescued 
from  their  fury 

Cyprus,  the  strength  and  defence  of  this  soil, 

And  have  secured  it  from  every  future  invasion. 

Nothing  now  remains  for  me  to  do.  Here,  then, 
I return  you 

The  dreaded  sword,  and  place  at  your  feet 

The  arms  and  banners  of  the  vanquished  foe. 

Doge.  Ah  ! how  can  I reward  such  noble  valor  ? 

Oth.  Sufficiently  am  I compensated 

By  the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me, 

A son  of  Africa, 

I am  but  a stranger  here  ; but  if  there  beats  in 
this  bosom 

A heart  worthy  of  you ; if,  more  than  my  native 
soil, 

This  land  claims  my  respect,  admiration,  and 
love, 

Let  Adria  own  me  as  her  son : I ask  no  more. 

I ago.  (How  presumptuous  a request !) 

Rod.  (How  fatal  to  the  wishes  of  my  heart !) 

Doge.  Returned  as  conqueror,  thou  hast  past 

The  bright  goal  of  glory ; let  thine  unconquered 
sword 

Repose  at  thy  side  : and,  even  now  as  a son  of 

Adria,  come  amid  the  voice  of  applause  to  crown 

Thy  brow  with  the  laurel  so  justly  merited. 

Rod.  (Then  shall  I lose  her  I adore  !)  \to  Xago. 

Oth.  Ah  ! yes,  in  your  behalf  I feel 

A new-born  ardor  animate  my  bosom  : 

In  your  behalf  the  flame  of  valor 
Burns  with  fresh  brightness  in  my  heart. 

For  a higher  reward  than  this 
It  is  not  allowed  me  to  hope. 

(But  then  only  shall  I be  happy 

When  love  crowns  the  wishes  of  my  heart.) 

1* 


10 

Popo. 

Iago. 

Otel. 


Elm. 

Rod. 

Elm. 

Rod. 

Elm. 


otello. 

Non  indugiar ; t ’ affretta  : 

Deh ! vieni  a trionfar. 

[Rod.  nel  massimo  dispetto  viene  trattenuto 
da  Iago. 

(T*  affrenna  ; la  vendetta 
Cauti  dobbiam  celar.) 

(Deh  Amor,  dirada  il  nembo 
Cagion  di  tanti  affanni ; 

Comincia  co’  tuoi  vanni 
La  speme  a ravvivar.) 

Senatori  e Popolo. 

Non  indugiar  ; t5  affretta  : 

Deh  vieni  a trionfar. 

[ Parte  Otel.  seguito  da'  Senatori  dal  Po- 
polo. 


SCENA  II. 

Elmiro  e Rodrigo. 

Rodrigo  ! 

Elmiro  ! Ah  padre  mio  ! deh  ! lascia 
Che  un  tale  nome  ti  dia,  se  al  mio  tesoro 
Desti  vita  si  cara  ; 

Ma  Desdemona  che  fa  mai,  che  dice  1 
Si  ricorda  di  me  ? Saro  felice  1 
Ah,  che  dirti  poss’  io  ! 

Sospira,  piange,  e la  cagion  mi  cela 
Dell’  occulto  suo  duol. 

Ma  in  parte  almeno — 
Arrestarmi  non  posso  : odi  lo  squillo 
Delle  trombe  guerriere  : 

Alla  pubblica  pompa  ora  degg’  io 
Volgere  il  pid  : ci  rivedremo ; addio. 


OTHELLO. 


n 


Peo.  Delay  not ; haste  thee  : 

0 come  away  to  triumph ! 

[Rod.,  transported  with  rage)  is  withheld  hy 
Iago. 

Iago.  (Restrain  thyself ; let  our  revenge 
Be  cautiously  concealed.) 

Oth.  (0  love  ! disperse  the  storm 

That  has  been  the  cause  of  all  my  woes  ; 

Upon  thy  pinions 

Let  hope  be  wafted  to  me.) 

Senators  and  People, . 

Delay  not : haste  thee  ; 

O come  away  to  triumph. 

[Exit  Oth.,  followed  by  Senators  and  the 
People . 

SCENE  II. 

Elmiro  and  Roderigo. 

Elm.  Roderigo  ! 

Rod.  Elmiro  ! 0 my  father ! Nay,  allow 

To  call  thee  by  this  name,  since  my  heart’s  best 
treasure 

From  thee  derived  her  existence. 

But  what  of  Desdemona  1 what  says  she  1 
Does  she  remember  me  1 shall  I be  happy  1 
Elm.  Ah,  what  can  I say  to  thee  ! 

She  sighs,  she  weeps,  but  conceals  from  me 
The  cause  of  her  secret  grief. 

Rod.  But  in  part,  at  least — 

Elm.  I cannot  now  delay  ; I hear  the  sound 
Of  the  warlike  trumpet. 

To  the  public  pomp  I must  now 
Hasten  : we  shall  meet  again.  Adieu. 


12 


OTELLO. 


SCENA  III. 

Stanza  nel  Palazzo  di  Elmiro. 
Desdemona  sola. 

Des.  Misera,  qual  tumulto  io  provo  in  sen  ! 

L?  ora  s’  appresta  omai 
Da  cui  dipende  la  mia  sorte. 

Oh  Dio  ! qual  funesto  ommaggio  m’agita  il  core 
Fra  il  giubbilo  commune,  io  sola 
Hai  cassa  palpito — tremo — 

E in  Slice  giorno  funeste  larve 
Solo  mi  vedo  intorno. 

Alma  invitta,  ah  non  paventa 
Il  furor  di  sorte  irata, 

Nel  crudel  fatal  cimento 
Il  valor  maggior  diventa  ; 

N&  il  timore,  n&  il  pentimento 
Vacillar  fanno  il  mio  cor. 

Ah!  se  vedo  il  caro  bene, 

Qual  maggior  felicita  ! 

Piu  non  sente  le  sue  pene, 

N&  piu  bramar  il  cor  non  sa. 

Un  istante  ancora,  oh  Dio  ! 

Il  mio  ben  qui  tonera. 

Oh  qual  momento  ! oh  qual  momento  ! 

Ah,  se  vedo  il  caro  bene 
Qual  maggior  felicita ! 

Piu  non  sente  le  sue  pene, 

Piu  bramar  il  cor  non  sa. 

Del  destin  il  reo  furore 
Paventar  mai  non  mi  ! 


OTHELLO. 


13 


SCENE  III. 

A Room  in  Elmiro’s  Palace . 

m 

Desdemona  alone. 

Des.  Ah  me  unhappy  ! what  anguish  do  I feel ! 

The  hour  fast  approaches, 

On  which  my  fate  depends. 

Oh  Heavens  ! what  unhappy  forebodings  I have  ! 
Amidst  the  common  joy, — I alone 
Am  unhappy,  and  tremble  : 

On  this  happy  day  for  others, 

I alone  have  afflicting  presages  ! 

My  unconquered  heart,  ah,  do  not  fear 
The  frowns  of  adverse  fate  ; 

For  in  the  midst  of  trials, 

Courage  brighter  appears  ; 

Neither  fear  nor  pain 

Shall  cause  my  heart  to  waver. 

Ah,  if  I could  see  my  beloved, 

It  would  be  happiness  indeed  ; 

No  more  anguish  of  mind,  then— 

No  more  palpitations  of  my  heart ! 

0 pitying  Heaven,  one  only  moment 
Grant  to  my  love  ! 

Oh  what  happy  moments  ! 

Ah,  if  I could  see  my  beloved, 

It  would  be  happiness  indeed  ! 

No  more  anguish  of  mind,  then — 

No  more  palpitations  of  the  heart ; 

The  fury  of  my  unhappy  fate, 

1 should  no  longer  fear. 


14  OTELLO. 


SCENA  IV. 

Emilia  e detta . 

Emi.  Carco  cP  allori  * 

A noi  riede  il  tuo  bene.  Odi,  d5  intorno 
Come  P Adria  festeggia  in  si  bel  giorno  ! 

Des.  Ma  che  miro  ? eeco  a noi,  che  incerto  i passi 
Muove  il  perfido  Iago : 

Fuggiam  ; si  eviti : ei  rintraccia  potria 
Sul  mio  volto,  P amor,  la  pena  mia. 

[. Partona . 

SCENA  V. 

Iago,  indi  Rodrigo,  epoi  Elmiro. 

Iago.  Fuggi — sprezzami  pur  : piu  non  mi  euro 
Della  tua  destra — Un  tempo  a?  voti  miei 
Utile  la  credei — Tu  mi  sprezzasti 
Per  un  vile  Affricano,  e cid  ti  basti. 

Ti  pentirai,  lo  giuro  ; 

Tutti  servir  dovranno  a?  miei  disegni 
GP  involati  d?  amor  furtivi  pegni. 

Ma  Rodrigo  a me  riede. 

Rod.  Ma  il  genitor  dov’  & ? 

Iago.  Miralo,  ei  viene. 

Elm.  Giunto  e,  Rodrigo,  il  fortunato  istante, 

In  cui  dovrai  di  sposo 
Da  la  destra  a mia  figlia ; 

L5  amista  mel  consiglia, 


OTHELLO. 


15 


SCENE  IV. 

Emilia  and  the  above . 

Emi.  Crowned  with  laurels, 

Thy  beloved  returns  to  us.  Hark,  how  around 
Adria  testifies  its  joy  on  this  happy  day  ! 

Des.  But  what  do  I see  1 behold  with  hesitating  step 
The  perfidious  Iago  comes  towards  us  ; 

Let  us  fly,  let  us  avoid  him  : he  might  trace 
On  my  countenance  the  sorrows  of  love. 

[ Exeunt . 

SCENE  V. 

Iago,  then  Roderigo,  and  afterwards  Elmiro. 

Iago.  Thou  fliest,  thou  despisest  me  : I no  longer  care 
For  the  hand  I sought — there  was  a time  when  I 
thought  it 

Useful  to  my  wishes — thou  hast  despised  me 
For  a vile  African,  and  this  is  enough. 

Thou  shalt  repent  thee,  I swear  it ; 

The  secret  pledges  of  love,  which  I have  care- 
fully kept, 

Shall  all  be  made  to  serve  my  purpose  : 

But  Roderigo  returns. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  where 

I may  find  the  father  of  my  beloved  one  1 
Iago.  See,  he  comes. 

Elm.  Roderigo,  the  fortunate  moment  has  arrived 
When  the  hand  of  my  daughter 
Shall  be  given  thee  in  marriage. 


OTELLO. 


16 

II  dover,  la  vertude, 

E quelP  odio  clP  io  serbo 

Per  P Affrican  superbo  : in  siem  congiunti 

Per  sangue  e por  amor,  facil  ne  fia 

Opporsi  al  suo  poter  : ma  tu  procura 

A1  padre  tuo,  che  invitto,  e armatto  riede 

In  sulP  Adriaco  soglio 

Svelar  le  trame  ed  il  nascoso  orgoglio. 

Rod.  Ah  si,  tutto  faro. 

Elm.  Iago,  t5  affretta 

A compir  P imeneo  : a parte  sei 
Delle  mie  brame  e de?  disegni  miei. 

Rod.  Ah  di  qual  gioja  acceso  io  sento  il  petto ! 

Quanto  saro  felice ! 

Elm.  Io  tel  prometto. 

SCENA  YI. 

Sola . 

Coro  di  Dame  e Gentiluomini,  amici  e conjidenti  d1 
Elmiro  ; indi  Elmiro,  Desdemona,  Emilia,  e 
Rodrigo. 

Tutto  il  Coro . 

Santo  Imen  ! tu  guidi  amore 
Due  belP  alme  ad  annodar. 

DelP  amore  il  dolce  ardore 
Tu  procura  di  eternar. 

Parte  del  Coro , 

Senza  lui  divien  tiranno 
Il  tuo  nobile  poter. 


OTHELLO. 


17 


Friendship,  duty  and  virtue  oblige  me  to  it, 

And  the  hate  I bare  to  the  proud  African  : 
Joined  by  the  ties  of  love  and  consanguinity, 

It  will  be  easy  to  oppose  his  power. 

But  do  thou  endeavor  that  thy  father, 

Who  armed  the  Adriatic  court, 

Should  discover  this  plot, 

And  this  hidden  ambition. 

Rod.  Yes,  all  shall  be  done. 

Elm.  Haste,  lago,  to  accomplish  the  marriage  : 

Thou  art  on  the  brink  of  my  wishes  and  my  de- 
signs. 

Rod.  Ah,  what  an  excess  of  joy  ! 

What  felicity  awaits  me  ! 

Elm.  I give  thee  my  word. 


SCENE  VI. 

Saloon . 

Chorus  of  Ladies  and  Gentlemen , the  friends  and  conji* 
dants  of  Elmiro  ; then  Elmiro,  Desdemona,  Emi- 
lia, and  Roderigo. 

The  whole  Chorus . 

0 sacred  Hymen ! love  guides  thee 
To  unite  two  loving  hearts. 

It  is  time  to  render  eternal 
The  sweet  ardors  of  love. 

Part  of  Chorus . 

Without  him,  thy  noble  power 
Would  degenerate  into  tyranny. 


OTELLO, 


18 

Altra  Parte . 

Senza  lui  cagion  di  affanno 
E?  d’  amore  ogni  piacer. 

Tutti . 

Qual  momento  di  contento  ! 

Tra  P amore  ed  il  valore 
Resta  attonito  il  pensier  ! 

Des.  Dove  son  1 che  mai  veggo  ? 

Il  cor  non  mi  tradi  ? 

Elm.  Tutta  or  riponi 

La  tua  fiducia  in  me.  Padre  a te  sono : 
Ingannarti  non  posso.  Eterna  fede 
Giura  a Rodrigo  : egli  la  rnerta,  ei  solo 
Puo  renderti  felice. 

Rod.  (Che  mai  dira  ? — ) 

Emi.  (Qual  cenno !) 

Des.  (Oh  me  infelice  !) 

Elm.  Appaga  i voti  mieti ; in  te  riposo. 

Des.  (Oh  natura  ! oh  dover  ! oh  legge  ! oh  sposo  !) 
Elm.  Nel  cor  d?  un  padre  amante 
Riposa,  amata.  figlia  : 

E5  amor  che  mi  consiglia 
La  tua  felicita. 

Rod.  Confusa  e P alma  mia 

Tra  tanti  dubbj  e tanti ; 

Solo  in  si  fieri  istanti 
Reggermi  amor  portra. 

Des.  Padre — tu — brami — oh  Dio  ! 

Che  la  sua  mano  accetti  % 

(A’  miei  tiranni  affetti 
Chi  mai  resistera  ?) 

Elm.  (Si  arresta  ! — ahim&  ! — sospira  ! 

Che  mai  temer  degg*  io  ? 

Rod.  Tanto  soffrir,  ben  mio, 

Tanto  il  mio  cor  dovra  ? 

Des.  Deh  taci ! — 


OTHELLO. 


19 


Another  Part . 

Without  him,  all  the  joys  of  love 

Would  but  prove  the  occasion  of  sorrow. 

All 

Thrice  happy  moment ! 

At  the  view  of  such  love  and  valor 
The  mind  remains  filled  with  admiration. 

Des.  Where  am  I ? what  do  I behold  ? 

Surely  my  heart  has  not  betrayed  1 
Elm.  Place  all  thy 

Confidence  in  me.  I am  thy  father: 

I cannot  deceive  thee.  Pledge  eternal  faith 
To  Roderigo ; he  deserves  it — he  alone 
Can  render  thee  happy. 

Rod.  (What  did  she  say  ?) — 

Emx.  (How  dreadful  a command  !) 

Des.  (Wretch  that  I am  !) 

Elm.  F ulfil  the  wishes  of  my  heart ; I repose  in  thee, 
Des.  (0  nature  ! O duty  ! 0 law  ! O spouse  !) 

Elm.  Repose,  o beloved  daughter, 

In  the  heart  of  a loving  father : 

It  is  love  that  counsels  me 
To  consult  thy  happiness. 

Rod.  My  soul  is  confused 

Amidst  a thousand  distracting  doubts  ; 

At  so  trying  a moment  as  this 
Love  alone  can  support  me. 

Des.  Father — is  it  thy  will — 0 Heavens  ! 

That  I should  accept  his  hand  ? 

(To  affections  so  tyrannic  as  mine 
Who  could  persist  1) 

Elm.  (She  hesitates  ! — alas  ! — she  sighs  ! 

What  have  I not  to  fear  ?) 

Rod.  Canst  thou,  my  beloved  one, 

Cause  such  anguish  to  his  heart  ? 

Des.  Prithee,  peace  ! — 


20 

OTELLO. 

Elm. 

(Che  veggo  ?) 

Rod. 

(Mi  sprezza  !) 

Elm. 

(Resiste  !) 

Rod. 

\ (0  ciel ! da  te  chieggo 

Des. 

( Soccorso — pieta.) 

Elm. 

Deh,  giura. 

Des. 

Che  chiedi  I 

Rod. 

Ah  ! vieni — 

Des. 

Che  pena  ! 

Elm. 

Se  al  padre  non  cedi, 
Punirti  sapra. 

Rod. 

Ti  parli  V amore  : 

Non  essermi  infida  : 
Quest’  alma  a te  fida 
Piu  pace  non  ha. 

Elm. 

D’  un  padre  P amore 
Ti  serva  di  guida  : 
Al  padre  t’  affida, 
Che  pace  non  ha. 

Des. 

Del  fato  il  rigore 
A pianger  mi  guida  : 
Quest’  alma  a lui  fida 
Piu  pace  non  ha. 

SCENA  VII. 


Otello  nel  fond/) , seguito  da  alcuni  suoi 
detti. 

Otel.  L’  infida  ! ahime  che  miro  1 
A1  mio  rivale  accanto  ! — 

Elm.  Figlia ! 

Rod.  Ti  muova  il  pianto  ; 

Ti  muova  il  mio  dolor ! 

Elm.  Risolvi — 

Otel.  Io  non  resisto  ! 

Seg . Frenanti — 

Elm.  Ingrata  figlia ! 


Compagniy  e 


OTHELLO. 


21 


Elm.  (What  do  I see  ?) 

Rod.  (She  scorns  me  !) 

Elm.  (She  resists  !) 

Rod.  ( (0  Heavens  ! I implore 

Des.  ( Pity  and  aid  at  thy  hands.) 

Elm.  Come,  swear. 

Des.  What  dost  thou  command? 

Rod.  Ah,  come — 

Des.  What  anguish  ! 

Elm.  If  thou  yield  not  to  thy  father, 

He  will  know  how  to  punish  thee. 

Rod.  Let  love  whisper  to  thy  heart : 

Be  not  unfaithful  to  me  : 

Constant  to  thee,  this  soul 
Can  else  taste  of  peace  no  more. 

Elm.  Let  the  love  of  a father 

Serve  as  an  example  to  thee  : 

Repose  in  thy  father, 

Who  else  can  taste  of  peace  no  more. 

Des.  The  rigor  of  fate 

Overwhelms  me  with  affliction  : 

Unless  faithful  to  him, 

I can  taste  of  peace  no  more. 

SCENE  VII. 

Othello  at  the  extremity  of  the  Stage,  followed  by  some 
of  his  companions,  and  the  above. 

Oth.  The  ungrateful  one  ! alas,  what  do  I see  ? 

Beside  my  rival ! — 

Elm.  Daughter ! 

Rod.  Let  my  tears  move  thee  ; 

Let  my  anguish  soften  thee. 

Elm.  Resolve — 

Oth.  I can  resist  no  longer  ! 

Attend . Withhold — 

Elm.  Ungrateful  daughter ! 


22 


QTELLO. 


Rod. 

Des. 

Tutti. 

Elm. 
Otel. 
Tutti . 
Elm. 

Otel. 

Elm. 

Des. 

Rod. 

Otel. 

Rod. 


Otel. 

Elm. 

Des. 

Elm. 

Rod. 

Elm. 

Otel. 

Rod. 


( O Dio  ! chi  mi  consiglia  ? 

( Chi  mi  da  forza  al  cor  I 
A1  rio  destin  rubelio 
Chi  mai  sottrarla  puo  \ 

Deh,  giura — 

Ah ! ferma — 

Otello ! 

II  core  in  sen  geld  ! 

Che  brami  1 — 

II  suo  core — 
Amore  mel  diede, 

E amore  lo  chiede, 

Che  ardire ! 

Che  affanno  ! 

QualP  alma  superba ! 
Rammenta — mi  serba 
Intatta  la  fd. 

E qual  diritto  mai, 

Perfido,  su  quel  core 
Nantar  con  me  potrai, 

Per  renderlo  infedel  ? 

Virtu,  costanza,  amore  ; 

II  dato  giuramento. 

Misero  me,  che  sento  ? 

Giurasti  1 — 

E?  ver  ; giurai — 

( Per  me  non  hai  piu  fulmini 
( Inesorabil  ciel ! 

Vieni — 

T’  arresta — 

Invanno 

L?  avrai  tu  mio  nemico — 
Empia  ! — ti  maledico — 


[a  Des. 


Elm. 


OTHELLO. 


28 


Rod. 

Des. 

All. 

Elm. 

Oth. 

All. 

Elm. 

Oth. 


Elm. 

Des. 

Rod. 

Oth. 

Rod. 


Oth. 

Elm. 

Des. 

Elm. 

Rod. 

Elm. 

Oth. 

Rod. 

Elm. 


< 0 Heavens  ! who  will  counsel  me  7 
£ Who  will  support  my  fainting  heart  7 
From  so  severe  a destiny 
Who  can  rescue  her  7 
Come,  swear — 

Ah  ! hold— 

Othello  ! — 

My  heart  freezes  within  me  ! 

What  wouldst  thou  7 — 

Her  heart— 

Love  gave  it  me  ; 

And  love  demands  it, 

Elmiro,  from  thee. 

What  presumption  ! 

What  anguish  ! 

Thou  haughty  spirit ! 

Remember — reserve  to  me  \to  Des. 

Thy  faith  inviolate. 

And  what  right  hast  thou, 

Perfidious  man  ! to  dispute  with  me 
That  heart,  and  strive 
To  render  it  unfaithful  7 
Virtue,  constancy,  love : 

The  oath  she  pledged  me. 

Wretch  that  I am,  what  do  I hear  7 
Thy  oath  7 — 

It  is  true  ; I have  sworn — 
Inexorable  Heaven 
Has  exhausted  its  bolts  upon  me  ! 

Come — 

Hold- 

In  vain 

Dost  thou  seek  to  be  united  to  my  foe. 
Wretched  woman,  my  curse  be  on  thee — 


24 


OTELLO. 


Tutti  Che  giorno,  ohim6 — d’  orror  ! 

Incerta  P anirna 
Vacilla  e geme  ; 

La  dolce  speme 
Fuggi  dal  cor. 

Rod.  Parti,  crudel ! 

Otel.  Ti  sprezzo ! \a  Rod, 

Des.  Padre ! — 

Elm.  Non  v?  & perdono. 

Rod.  Or  or  vedrai  chi  sono. 

Otel.  Paventa  il  mio  furor. 

Tutti . Smanio,  deliro,  e trerao. 

No,  non  fu  mai  piu  fiero 
D?  un  rio  destin  severo 
II  barbaro  rigor  ! 

[Elm.  prende  Des.  e.  la  conduce  via;  ella , 
rimirando  con  dolcezza  Otel.  si  allontana 
da  lui. 


FINE  DELL*  ATTO  PRIMO. 


OTHELLO. 


25 


All . Alas  ! what  a day  of  horror ! 

My  mind  fluctuates 
In  cruel  uncertainty ; 

My  heart  bids  adieu 
To  the  sweets  of  hope. 

Rod.  Away,  cruel  one  ! 

Oth.  I despise  thee ! [to  Rod. 

Des.  Father  !— 

Elm.  It  is  too  late  for  pardon. 

Rod.  Soon  shalt  thou  see  who  I am. 

Oth.  Learn  to  dread  my  anger. 

All . I rage,  I rave,  I tremble  with  alarm. 

Never  did  the  severities 
Of  destiny  light  more  severely 
On  a devoted  head. 

[Elm.  takes  Des.  and  leads  her  away . She 
retires , casting  a look  of  tenderness  on 

Oth. 


END  OF  THE  FIRST  ACT. 


26 


OTELLO. 


ATT  0 II. 


SCENA  I. 

Girardino  net  Palazzo  d1  Otello. 

Otello,  poi  Iago. 

Otel.  Che  feci  ? ove  mi  trasse 

Un  disperato  amor  1 io  gli  proposi 
La  gloria,  P onor  mio  ! 

Ma  che  : mia  non  b forse  ? in  faecia  al  cielo 
Fede  non  mi  giuro  2 non  diem  mi  in  pegno 
La  sua  destra,  il  suo  cor  2 potrd  lasciarla 
Obliaria  potro  2 potro  soffrire 
Vederla  in  braccio  d?  altri  e non  morire  ? 

Iago.  Perch&  rnesto  cosi  2 — scuotiti.  Ah,  mostra 
Che  Otello  alfin  tu  sei. 

Otel.  Lasciami  in  preda 

Al  mio  crudel  destin. 

Iago.  Del  suo  rigore 

Hai  ragion  di  lagnarti ; 

Ma  tu  non  dei,  benehe  nemico  il  fato, 

Cader,  per  nostro  scorno,  invendicato. 

Otel.  Che  mai  far  deggio? 


OTHELLO. 


27 


Oth. 


Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

Gardens  at  Othello’s  Palace . 


Othello,  afterwards  Iago. 

What  have  I done  ? 

Where  would  my  despairing 
Passion  lead  me  to  ? For  her 
I abandon  both  glory  and  honor  ! 

But  what ! is  she  not  mine  7 
Before  Heaven  did  she  not 
Swear  to  me  her  faith, — did 
She  not  bestow  her  hand, 

Her  heart  on  me  ? can  I leave  her — 

Can  I forget  her  ? can  I 
Suffer  to  behold  her  in  the 
Embrace  of  another,  and  not 
Die  1 

Why  thus  sad  ? — arouse  thyself.  Ah,  show 
Thyself  Othello  once  again. 

Leave  me  a prey 
To  the  severity  of  my  fate. 

Of  its  rigor 

Thou  hast  doubtless  cause  to  complain  ; 

But  it  ill  becomes  thee,  hostile  as  is  thy  destiny, 
To  disgrace  us  by  falling  unrevenged. 

What  wouldst  thou  have  me  to  do  1 


28 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 


otello. 

Ascoltami — die  pensi  ?— 

In  te  stesso  ritorna — I tuoi  trionfi 
Di  difesa  ti  son- — sono  bastanti 

I tuoi  nemici  ad  atterrir — a farti 
Sprezzare  ogni  altro  affetto. 

Quai  terribili  accenti  ! 

L?  interrotto  parlare,  i dubbj  tuoi, 

L5  irresoluto  volto — 

In  quanti  affanni  involto 

Hanno  il  mio  cor  ! Spiegati.  Ah  non  tenermi 
In  si  fiera  incertezza. 

Altro  dirti  non  so  ; dal  labbro  mio 
Altro  chieder  non  dei. 

Chieder  non  deggio — oil  Dio  ! quanto  accresse 

II  mio  timor  dal  tuo  silenzio  ! — Ah,  forse 

L’  infida ! 

E perchfe  cerchi 
Nuova  cagion  d?  affanni  ? 

Tu  m5  uccidi  cosi.  Meno  in  felice 
Sarei,  se  il  vero  io  conoscessi. 

Ebbene 

Il  vuoi  ? Ti  appaghero — che  dico  ? io  gelo  ! 
Parla  una  volta. 

O quale  arcano  io  svelo  ! 

Ma  P amista  lo  chiede  ; 

Io  cedo  all5  amista.  Deh  sappi — 

Ah  taci  !— 

Ahim6 ! tutto  compresi. 

E che  farai  ? 

Vendicarmi,  e morir. 

Morir  non  dei ; 

E indisprezzarla  avrai  vendetta  intera. 


OTHELLO. 


29 


Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 


Hear  me — why  thus  pensive  7 — 

Be  thyself  again — thy  triumphs 
Are  sufficient  to  supprt  thee — are  sufficient 
To  abash  thine  enemies — to  make  thee 
Despise  every  other  affection. 

How  terrible  are  thy  words  ! 

Thy  hesitating  manner,  thy  doubts, 

Thy  changeful  brow — 

How  deep  an  emotion  have  they  awakened 
In  my  breast ! Explain  thyself.  Ah  keep  me 
not 

In  such  cruel  uncertainty. 

More  I cannot  tell  thee  ; more  thou 
Shouldst  not  require  my  lips  to  utter. 

Should  not  require — O Heavens  ! how  does 
Thy  silence  increase  my  alarm  ! Ah,  perchance 

The  faithless  one  ! 

Nay,  why  seek 

For  fresh  occasions  of  sorrow  7 

Torture  me  no  longer.  I shall  be  less  wretched 

If  I learn  the  whole  truth. 

Well,  then, 

Dost  thou  wish  it  7 I will  satisfy  thee ! 

What  do  I say  7 — A chill  overspreads  me  ! 

Nay,  speak  out  at  once. 

Of  what  a secret  am 

I the  bearer  ! 

But  friendship  demands  it ; 

I yield  to  the  call  of  friendship.  Know  then — 
Ah,  hold,  hold  ! — 

Alas,  I comprehend  all. 

And  what  wilt  thou  do  7 
Avenge  myself,  or  perish. 

Perish  thou  must  not ; 

And  in  treating  her  with  scorn  thou  wilt  have 
sufficient  revenge. 


30 


OTELLO. 


Otel.  Ma  non  tremenda  e fiera, 

QualP  io  la  bramo,  quale  amor  la  chiede — 

Ma  sicuro  son  io  del  suo  delitto. 

\Gon  incertezza. 

Ah)  se  tal  fosse  ! — guai  a me — Tu,  Iago, 

Mi  comprendi ; e il  tradermi  sara 
Delitto  ancora  in  te. 

I ago*  Deli ! die  mai  pensi  ? 

Confuso  io  son — un  pegno — 

Questo  foglio  per  me — [Gli  da  unfoglio . 

Otel.  Chemiro?  Oh  Dio  I 

Si,  di  sua  man  son  queste 
Le  crudeii  d?  amor  cifro  funeste. 

Non  nr  inganno,  al  mio  rivale 
IP  infedel  vergato  ha  il  foglio — 

Piu  non  reggo  al  mio  cordoglio  ! — 

Io  mi  sento  lacerar  ! 

Iago.  (Gia  la  fiera  gelosia 

Verso  tutto  il  suo  veleno, 

Tutto  gia  gP  inconda  il  seno, 

E mi  guida  a trionfar.) 

Otel.  ( legge .)  “ Caro  bene” — e ardisci,  ingrata  ! 

Iago.  (Nel  suo  ciglio  il  cor  gli  veggo.) 

Otel.  u Ti  son  fida” — Ahim6  ! che  leggo  ? 

Quali  smanie  io  sento  al  cor  ! 

Iago.  (Quanta  gioja  io  sento  al  cor  !) 

Otel.  Tu  nomasti  un  pegno — Oh  cielo  ! 

Iago.  (Cresce  in  lui  P atroce  sdegno.) 

Otel.  Dov?  mai  P orribil  pegno? 

Iago.  Ecco — il  cedo  con  orror ! 

[ Gli  dd  un  fazzoletto . 
Otel.  No,  piu  crudele  un?  aniina — 


OTHELLO . 


31 


Oth.  But  not  that  terrible  and  fierce  revenge 

Which  I desire,  and  which  love  demands — 

But  I am  not  certain  of  her  crime. 

[ Hesitatingly . 

Ah,  should  it  be  so ! — wo  betide  thee — Thou 
Iago, 

Thou  dost  understand  me  ; to  betray  rne 
Would  be  no  less  a crime  in  thee. 

Iago.  Of  what  art  thou  thinking  ? 

I am  all  confusion — this  pledge — 

This  letter  for  me  will — [ Gives  him  a letter . 

Oth.  What  do  I see  ? O Heavens  ! 

Yes,  her  own  hand  it  was  that  traced 
These  fatal  characters  of  love. 

I am  not  deceived  ; this  letter 

The  faithless  one  has  sent  to  my  rival — 

I can  no  longer  restrain  my  feelings  — 

What  anguish  rends  my  bosom, 

Iago.  (Already  has  fierce  jealousy 
Poured  out  all  his  poison 
To  infect  his  bosom, 

And  guides  me  to  triumph.) 

Oth.  {reads.)  “ My  dear  love” — and  durst  the  un- 
grateful one ! ^ 

Iago.  (All  his  soul  is  painted  on  his  brow.) 

Oth.  u To  thee  am  I faithful” — Ah!  what  do  I read? 
What  agonies  do  I feel  in  my  heart ! 

Iago.  (What  joy  do  I feel  in  my  heart !) 

Oth.  Thou  didst  name  a pledge — O Heavens  ! 

Iago.  (The  flame  of  his  wrath  increases.) 

Oth.  Where  is  the  horrid  pledge  ? 

Iago.  Behold  it — it  is  with  horror  I give  it  thee  ! 

[ Gives  him  a hankerchief 

Oth.  No,  a soul  more  cruel — • 


OTELLO. 


82 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 


Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 

Iago. 

Otel. 


Iago. 


" (No  piu  con  ten  ta  un’  anima— 
No,  che  giammai  si  vide  !) 

II  cor  mi  si  divide 
^Per  tanta  crudelta. 

(Proprizio  il  ciel  arride ; 

L’  indegna,  ah  si  cadra.) 

Che  far  degg?  io  ? 

Ti  calma. 

Lo  speri  in  van. 

Che  dici  ? 

Spinto  da  furie  ultrici 
Puniria  alfin  saprdy 

Ed  oserai  1 

Lo  giuro. 

E amore — 

Io  pin  nol  euro. 

T?  affida  ; i tuoi  netnici 
Or  dunque  abbatterb. 

U ira  d’  avverso  fato 
Io  piu  non  temero  ; 

Morro,  ma  vindicato ; 

Si — dopo  lei  morro. 

(LJ  ira  d>  avverso  fato 
Temer  piu  non  dovro  : 

Io  son  gia  vendicato, 

Di  lui  trionfero.) 


[Parte. 


OTHELLO, 


33 


Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 

Oth. 

Iago. 


(No,  a soul  more  gratified — 

Could  nowhere  be  found  !) 

My  heart  is  rent  asunder 
By  cruelty  such  as  this. 

(Heaven  smiles  propitious  on  me  ; 

Yes,  perish  the  wretch  !) 

What  ought  I to  do  ? 

Be  composed. 

In  vain  dost  thou  hope  it. 

What  say’st  thou  I 

Urged  on  by  the  avenging  Furies, 

I shall  know  how  to  punish  her. 

And  wilt  thou  attempt  it  ? 

I swear  it. 

And  love — 

I am  reckless  now  of  that. 

Take  confidence  ; and  soon  I will 
Humble  thy  enemies. 

I have  nothing  more  malignant 

To  dread  from  the  severity  of  fate  ; 

I shall  die,  but  avenged  ; 

Yes — after  her  I shall  die. 

(I  have  nothing  farther  to  dread 
From  the  severity  of  fate  : 

Now  I am  revenged  ; 

Now  shall  I triumph.) 

2* 


34 


OTELLO. 


Otel. 

Rod. 

Otel. 

Rod. 

Otel. 

Rod. 

Otel. 


SCENA  II. 

Otello  solo,  indi  Rodrigo. 

E a tanto  giunger  puote  V 

Un  ingannevol  cor  ! — Ma-chi  s’  avanza  ? 

Rodrigo — e che  inai  brami  1 — 

A te  ne  vengo 

Tuo  nemico,  se  il  vuoi : 

Ma  al  mio  voler  se  cedi, 

Tuo  amico,  e difensor. 

Uso  non  sono 

A mentire,  a tradir.  Io  ti  disprezzo, 

Nemico,  o difensor. 

(O  che  baldanza  !)  [a  parte. 

Non  mi  conosci  ancor  1 

Si,  ti  conosco, 

Percio  non  ti  pavento  ; 

Sol  disprezzo,  il  ripeto,  io  per  te  sento. 

Ah  vieni,  nel  tuo  sangue 
Vendichero  le  offese  : 

Se  un  vano  amor  ti  accese, 

Distrugglerio  sapro. 

Or  or  vedrai  qual  chiudo 
Giusto  furor  nel  seno ; 

Si,  vendicarmi  appieno 
Di  lei,  di  te  dovo. 

a 2. 

Qual  gioja  ! all’  armi ! all’  armi ! 

Il  traditor  gi^  parmi 
Veder  trafitto  al  suol. 


OTHELLO. 


85 


Oth. 

Rod. 

Oth. 

Rod. 

Oth. 

Rod. 

Oth. 


SCENE  II. 

Othello  alone , then  Roderigo. 

And  could  her  deceitful  heart 

Lead  her  to  do  this  ! — but  who  comes  ? 

Roderigo — what  wouldst  thou  with  me  1 

I come  to  thee 
As  thy  enemy,  if  thou  so  wishes t it : 

But  if  thou  wilt  yield  to  my  request, 

As  thy  friend  and  defender. 

I am  not  used 

To  lie  and  betaiy.  I dispise  thee. 

Friend  or  foe. 

(Oh  what  presumption  !)  [aside. 
Knowest  thou  me  not  as  yet  i 

Yes,  I know  thee, 

And  therefore  it  is  I fear  thee  not : 

Scorn,  I repeat  it,  is  all  I feel  towards  thee. 

Come  on  then  ; with  thy  blood 
I will  avenge  my  wrongs. 

If  a foolish  love  inflame  thee, 

I shall  know  how  to  extinguish  it. 

Shortly  shalt  thou  see  what  just 
Indignation  I carry  in  my  bosom  : 

Yes,  I will  at  once  be  revenged 
Upon  her,  and  upon  thee, 

a 2. 

What  joy  ! To  arms ! to  arms  ! 

Already  I seem  to  behold 

The  traitor  weltering  on  the  earth. 


38 


OTEL1A 


Des. 


Rod. 

Otel, 

Des. 


Otel. 

Rod. 

Otel. 

Des. 

Otel. 

Des. 


Otel. 

e 

Rod. 

Des. 


SCENA  III. 

Desdemona,  e detti. 

Aim&  ! fermate — udite — 

Solo  il  mio  cor  ferite, 

Cagion  di  tanto  duol. 

a 3. 

” Che  fiero  punto  e questo  ! 
e J L’indegna  a me  d5  innante  ! 

Pinta  ha  sul  reo  sembiante 
L Tutta  P infedelta. 

Che  fiero  punto  e questo ! 

L5  ingrato  a me  d5  innante 
Non  cangia  di  sembiante  ! 
Misera  ! che  sera  ? 

Deh,  seguimi. 

Ti  seguo. 

Son  pago  alfin. 

T5  arresta ! 

Vanne  ! 

Che  pena  & questa  I 
Che  fiera  erudelta  ! 

a 3. 

" Tra  tante  smanie  e tante, 
Quest5  alma  mia  delira  ; 
Victo  e l5  amor  dall5  ira, 
Spira  vendetta  il  cor. 

Tra  tante  smanie  e tante, 

Quest5  alma,  che  delira, 

Su  i labbri  miei  gia  spira, 
Sento  mancarmi  il  cor. 


[arrestandoli. 


[Partono . 


[ sviene . 


OTHELLO. 


87 


Des. 


Rod. 

Oth. 

Des. 


Oth. 

Rod. 

Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 

Des. 


Oth. 

Rod. 

Des. 


SCENE  III. 


Desdemona,  and  the  above . 

Alas  ! hold — hear  me — [Arresting  them. 

Strike  to  this  heart  alone, 

The  cause  of  all  these  ills. 

a 8. 


" What  a moment  of  agony  is  this  ! 

The  unfaithful  one  before  me  ! 

She  has  all  her  infidelity 
Depicted  on  her  countenance. 

What  a moment  of  agony  is  this  ! 

The  ungrateful  one  before  me 
Changes  not  his  countenance  ! 

Wretch  that  I am,  what  will  become  of  me  1 
Come,  follow  me. 

I follow  thee  ! 

At  length  I am  avenged. 

h Hold! 


Hence  ! 

What  torture  is  this  ? 
What  unsparing  barbarity ! 


a 8. 


r Beneath  such  overwhelming  woes 
This  soul  is  driven  to  madness ; 

Love  gives  place  to  wrath, 
w The  heart  breathes  nothing  but  vengeance. 

[Exeunt. 

Beneath  such  overwhelming  woes, 

This  soul  driven  even  to  madness, 

Even  now  flutter  on  my  lip  ; 

I feel  my  spirit  fail  me.  [^STh?  faints. 


88 


OTELLO. 


SCENA  IV. 

Emilia,  e delta ; indi  Coro  di  Popolo , poi  Elmiro. 

Emi.  Desdemona  ! cue  veggo  ? e fuor  de,  sensi — 
Pallor  di  morte  le  ricopre  il  volto  ! 

Mirera  che  faro  ? clii  mi  soccorre  1 
Quale  ajuto  recarle  1 
0 tu,  delP  alma  mia  parte  piu  cara, 

Ascoltami ! deh  riedi  a questo  seno — 

La  tua  arnica  ti  chiama — Ah,  non  responde  ! 
Gelo  e il  petto  e la  man — chi  me  la  invola  ? — 
Quel  barbaro  dov’  e ? — vorrei — che  miro  l 
Apre  i languidi  lumi.  O ciel,  respiro  ! 

Des.  Chi  sei  ? — 

Emi.  Non  mi  conosci  1 

Des.  Emilia ! 

Emi.  Ah  quella, 

Quella  appunto  sorr  io. 

In  si  fatal  periglio 
Deh  segui  i passi  miei. 

Des.  Ma  potro  mai 

Rivederlo  ? — abbracciarlo  ? — Ah,  se  nol  sai, 
Vanne,  cerca,  procura— 

Emi.  E che  mai  chiedi  1 

Des.  Non  so — confusa,  oppressa, 

In  me  no  siu  ritrovar  me  stessa ! 

Che  smania ! aim^,  che  affanno  ! 

Chi  mi  soccorre  ? Oh,  Dio  ! 

Per  sempre,  alii,  P idol  mio 
Per  der  cosi  dovro  1 


OTHELLO. 


89 


SCENE  IV. 

Emilia  and  the  above ; then  a Chorus  of  the  People: 
afterwards  Elmiro. 

Emi.  What  do  I see  ? it  is  Desdemona  ! she  is  out  of 
herself — 

The  paleness  of  death  is  on  her  countenance  ! 
Wretch  ! what  shall  I do  ? who  will  aid  me  ? 
Where  shall  I seek  for  help  ? 

0 thou,  the  dearer  half  of  my  soul, — 

Hear  me  ! return  to  this  bosom — 

Thy  friend  calls  thee — alas  she  answers  not ! 

Her  bosom  and  her  hand  are  cold  ! — Who  has 
snatched  her  from  me  ? — 

Where  is  the  barbarian '? — would  to  Heaven — 
What  do  I see  ? — 

She  opens  her  languid  eyes.  O Heavens  ! 
breathe  again. 

Des.  Who  art  thou  ? 

Emi.  Dost  thou  not  know  me  ? 

Des.  Emilia ! 

Emi.  Yes,  yes  ; the  same,  the  same  ; 

Surrounded  as  thou  art  with  perils, 

Come,  follow  my  footsteps  ; 

Save  thyself,  for  pity’s  sake. 

Des.  But  shall  I ever 

Behold  him  again  ? — embrace  him  again  I — • 

Ah,  if  thou  knowest  not, 

Go,  seek,  find  him — 

Emi.  And  whom  dost  thou  seek  ? 

Des.  I know  not.  Confused,  overwhelmed, 

1 no  longer  recognise  my  former  self ! 

What  delirium  ! what  anguish  ! 

Who  will  succor  me  1 O Heavens  ! 

And  am  I then  doomed  for  ever 
To  lose  the  idol  of  my  heart? 


40 


OTELLO. 


Barbara  ciel  tiranno ! 

Da  me  se  lo  dividi, 

Salvalo  almen  : me  uccidi : 

Contenta  io  moriro. 

Qual  nuova  a me  recate  ? 

Men  fiero  se  parlate, 

Si  rende  il  mio  dolor. 

[Al  Coro  che  arriva. 

Coro.  Frema  il  mio  core  e tace. 

Des.  De?  detti  & piu  loquace — 

E quel  silenzio  an  cor — 

Che  smania  ohime  ! che  affanno  ! 

Chi  mi  soccorre,  oh  Dio  ? 

Per  sempre  hai  P idol  mio 
Perder  cosi  dovrd  ? 

Men  fiero  se  parlate, 

Si  rende  il  mio  dolor. 

De’  detti  piu  loquace, 

E quel  silenzio  ancor. 

Ah  ditemi  almen  voi — 

Coro . Che  mai  saper  tu  vuoi  ? 

Des.  Se  vive  il  mio  tesor. 

Coro . Vive,  serena  il  ciglio — 

Des.  Salvo  dal  suo  periglio  ? 

Altro  non  chiede  il  cor. 

Elm.  Qui ! — indegna  ! 

Des.  (Il  genitore !) 

Elm.  Del  mio  tradito  onore 

Come  non  hai  rossor  ? 

Coro . Oh  ciel ! qual  nuovo  orror ! 

Des.  L’error  d’  un  infelice 

Pietoso  in  me  perdona  : 

Se  il  padre  m’  abbandona, 

Da  chi  sperar  pietA  ? 


OTHELLO. 


41 


Cho. 

Des. 


Cho. 

Des. 

Cho. 

Des. 

Elm. 

Des. 

Elm. 

Cho. 

Des. 


Cruel,  unpitying  powers ! 

If  ye  tear  him  from  me, 

At  least  save  him  : kill  me  at  once  : 

I shall  die  content. 

What  tidings  do  you  bring? 

Less  distressing  is  it,  if  you  speak — 

Less  the  anguish  of  my  mind. 

[2b  the  Chorus  entering . 

The  heart  shudders,  and  is  silent 
But  words  are  more  eloquent — 

And  still  this  silence — 

What  madness,  alas  ! what  trouble  ! 

Heavens  ! who  will  assist  me  ? 

Ought  I for  ever  thus  to  lose 
The  idol  of  my  heart  ? 

My  grief  is  less  poignant,  if  you  speak, 

And  less  the  trouble  of  my  mind. 

Words  are  far  more  eloquent, 

And  still  this  silence  is  observed. 

Ah,  tell  me,  you  at  least — 

What  wouldst  thou  know  ? 

If  the  treasure  of  my  heart  still  lives. 

He  lives — clear  that  sorrowing  brow. 

Is  he,  then,  safe  from  danger  ? 

My  heart  asks  no  more. 

What,  here  ! — worthless  woman  ! 

(My  father  !) 

Has  thou  no  shame 
Of  having  betrayed  my  honor  ? 

O Heavens  ! what  new  horror  is  this  ? 

Have  compassion  on  me, 

And  pardon  the  errors  of  an  unhappy  woman 
If  my  father  desert  ine, 

Where  am  I to  look  for  pity  ? 


42  OTELLO. 

Elm.  No,  die  pieta  non  ineriti : 
Vedrai  fra  pono,  ingrata, 
Qual  pen  a & riserbata 
Per  chi  virtu  non  ha. 

Des.  Palpita  il  cor  nel  petto, 

A quel  severo  aspetto 
Piu  reggere  non  sa ! 

Elm.  Odi,  furor,  dispetto, 

Han  la  pieta  nel  petto 
Cangiata  in  crudelta. 

Coro . Se  nutre  nel  suo  petto 
Un  impudico  affetto, 
Giusta  & la  crudelta. 


FINE  DELl/  ATTO  SECONDO. 


OTHELLO. 


Elm.  No,  thou  art  unworthy  of  pity  ; 

Thou  shalfc  shortly  see,  ungrateful  one, 
What  punishment  is  reserved 
For  those  who  abandon  their  duty. 
Des.  How  my  heart  throbs  in  my  bosom  ! 

At  that  look  of  severity 
I can  no  longer  contain  myself. 

Elm.  Hate,  fury,  indignation, 

Have  changed  every  feeling  of  pity 
In  this  bosom  into  cruelty. 

Clio . If  she  cherishes  in  her  bosom 
An  unlawful  affection, 

Such  cruelty  is  just. 


END  OF  THE  SECOND  ACT. 


44 


OTELLO. 


ATTO  III. 


SCENA  I. 

Stanza  da  letto . 

Emilia,  e Desdemona  in  semplicissime  vesti  abbando - 
nata  sic  di  una  sedia , ed  immersa  nel  pin  jiero  dolor e. 

Desdemona  e Emilia. 

Des*.  All ! 

Emi.  Dagli  affanni  oppressa 

Parmi  faor  di  se  stessa  ! 

Che  mai  faro  ? Chi  mi  consiglia  ! 0 Cielo, 

Perche  tanto  ti  mostri  a noi  severo  ? 

Des.  Ah  ! no,  di  rivederlo  io  piu  non  spero  ! 

Emi.  Rincorati  : ascolta  : in  me  tu  versa 

Tutto  il  tuo  duol ; nelP  amista  soltanto 
Puoi  ritrovar  alcun  conforto  : Ah,  parla. 

Des.  Che  mai  dirti  poss?  io  ? 

Ti  parli  il  mio  dolore — il  pianto  mio. 

Emi*  Quanto  mi  fai  pieta  ! ma  almen  procura 
Da  saggia  die  tu  sei 
Di  dar  tregua  per  poco  aile  tue  pene. 


OTHELLO. 


45 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I. 

A Bedroom. 


Emilia 


Desdemona,  in  simple  attire , stretched  on  a 
seat , and  buried  in  the  deepest  grief. 


Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Des.  Ah  ! 

Emi.  She  appears  to  be  oppressed 
With  sorrow  and  affliction  ! 

What  shall  I do  ? No  one  to  advise  me  ! 
Oh  Heaven ! why  dost  thou  show 
Thyself  so  severe  towards  us  ? 

Des.  Ah,  no,  I shall  never  hope  to  see  him  more  ! 
Emi.  Take  courage  : hear  me  : 

Let  me  partake  in  thy  grief : 

It  is  in  friendship  only 

That  thou  wilt  find  some  comfort. 

Ah,  speak. 

Des.  What  can  I reveal  to  thee  I 

My  tears  and  sorrows  speak  to  thee. 

Emi.  How  I commiserate  in  thy  misfortures  ! 

But,  at  least,  let  thy  good  sense 
Govern  this  excess  of  crief. 


46 


OTJ3LLO. 


Des.  Che  dici  1 die  mai  pensi  ? in  odio  al  cielo, 

A mio  padre,  a me  stessa  : a duro  esiglio, 
Condannato  per  sempre,  il  earo  sposo 
Come  trovar  poss’  io  tregua,  o riposo  ! 

[Seniesi  di  lungi  il  Oondoliere , che  scioglie  all 1 
aura  un  dolce  canto . 

Gon . “ Nessun  maggior  dolore 

44  Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
u Nella  miseriaP’* 

[Des.  a quel  canto  si  scuote, 

Des.  Oh ! come  infino  al  core 

Giungon  quei  dolci  accenti ! 

[Alzdsi,  e con  trasnorto  si  avvicina  alia  fines- 
tra. 

Chi  sei  che  cosi  canti  ? — Ah,  tu  rammenti 
Lo  stato  mio  crudele  ! 

Emi.  E’  il  gondoliere,  che  cantando,  inganna 
Il  cammin  sulla  placida  laguna 
Pensando  ai  figli,  mentre  il  ciel  s’  imbruna. 

Des.  Isaura  ! — Isaura  ! 

Emi.  Essa  P arnica  appella, 

Che  all’  Affrica  involata  a se  vicina 
Qui  crebbe,  e qui  mori — 

Des.  Infelice  ancor  fosti 

Al  par  di  me.  Ma  or  tu  riposi  in  pace — 

Emi.  0 quanto  & ver  che  ratti  a un  core  oppresso 
Si  riuniscon  gli  affanni ! 


* Dante. 


OTHELLO. 


47 


Des.  What  dost  thou  say  '? 

What  dost  thou  think  ! — Abhorred  of  Heaven, 
Of  my  father,  of  myself,  my  husband, 
Condemned  to  exile  for  ever, 

Where  seek  a term  to  my  grief  or  rest  1 

[A  Gondolier  is  heard  at  a distance , who  sings 
a soft  air. 

Gan . u There  is  no  greater  wo, 

“ Than  in  the  hours  of  deep  distress, 
u To  recal  past  happiness.55* 

[ On  hearing  the  song , Des.  raises  herself. 

Des.  Oh,  how  those  sounds 

Penetrate  to  ray  inmost  heart ! 

[She  rises , and  with  transport  flies  to  the 
window. 

Who  art  thou  that  singest  thus  ? — Ah,  thou  dost 
remind  me 
Of  my  unhappy  lot ! 

Emi.  It  is  the  gondolier,  who  with  a song  beguiles 
His  way  on  the  placid  lake, 

Thinking  of  his  sons,  as  he  sees  the  sky  beginning 
to  be  overcast. 

Des.  Isaura  ! — Isaura  ! 

Emi.  She  calls  her  friend, 

Who  was  brought  a slave  from  Africa,  and 
whom 

She  imagines  near  to  her,  but  who  is  no  more. 

Des.  Thou,  too,  wert  unhappy 

Like  myself,  but  now  thou  reposest  in  peace. 

Emi.  Oh  ! how7  true  it  is,  that  with  a heart  oppressed 
with  wo 

The  sorrows  of  others  easily  attach  themselves  ! 


* Dante. 


48 


OTELLO. 


Des.  0 tu  del  mio  dolor  dolce  istrumento ! 

[Prende  V arpa. 

lo  te  riprendo  ancora  ; 

E uniseo  al  mesto  canto 

I sospiri  d’  Isaura,  ed  il  mio  pianto. 

Assisa  a pie  d’  un  sal  ice, 

Immersa  nel  dolore, 

Gemea  trafitta  Isaura 
Dal  piu  crudele  amore ; 

L’  aura  tra  i rami  flebile 
Ne  ripeteva  il  suon. 

I ruscelletti  limpidi 
A’  caldi  suoi  sospiri 
Il  mormorio  mesceano 
De’  lor  diversi  giri : 

L’  aura  fra  i rami  flebile 
Ne  repeteva  il  suon. 

Salce,  d’  amor  delizia, 

Ombra  pietosa  appresta, 

Di  mie  sciagure  immemore, 

All’  urna  mia  funesta  : 

Ne  piu  ripeta  1’  aura 
De’  miei  laraenti  il  suon. 

Che  dissi  ? — Ah,  m’  ingannai ! — Non  e del  canto 

Questo  il  lugubre  fin.  M’  ascolta — 0 Dio  ! 

[Un  colpo  di  vento  spezza  alcuni  vetri  della  fi- 
nestra. 

Qual  mai  strepito  questo? 

Qual  presagio  funesto  ! 

Emi.  Non  paventar  ! rimira, 

Impetuoso  vento  e quel,  che  spira. 

Des.  Io  credeva  che  alcuno — Oh,  come  il  cielo 

S’  unisce  a’  miei  lamenti ! — - 

Ascolta  il  fin  de’  dolorosi  accenti. 


OTHELLO. 


49 

Des.  O thou  sweet  soother  of  my  woes  ! 

[Takes  her  harp . 

Again  I resume  thee  ; 

And  in  a plaintive  song 

I mingle  the  sigh  of  Isaura  and  my  own  sorrows  : 

Seated  at  the  foot  of  a willow. 

Immersed  in  grief, 

Complained  the  hapless  Isaura, 

A pray  to  relentless  love ; 

The  breeze  amid  the  mournful  branches 
Repeated  the  sound. 

The  lucid  rills 
Mingled  the 
Of  their  passing  waves 
With  their  burning  sighs  : 

The  breeze  and  the  mournful  branches 
Repeated  the  sound. 

0 willow,  thou  favorite  of  love ! 

Lend  thy  pitying  shade, 

When  hushed  are  all  my  sorrows. 

To  my  sad  urn  : 

When  the  breeze  no  more  repeats 
The  sounds  of  my  lament. 

What  have  I said  I — Ah,  I was  wrong ! — ■ 

This  is  not  the  end 

Of  the  melancholy  song.  Hear  me — O Hea- 
vens ! 

\_A  blast  shatters  some  of  the  panes  of  the 
windows . 

What  noise  is  that  I 
What  fatal  presage  ! 

Emi.  Fear  not ! look, 

It  is  only  the  wind,  that  blew  with  violence. 

1 thought  that  some  one — ‘Oh,  Heaven, 
Sympathizes  in  my  laments — 

Listen  to  the  end  of  this  plaintive  ditty. 


Des. 


50 


Emi. 

Des. 


OTELLO, 

Ma  stanca  alfin  di  spargere 
Mesti  sospiri  e pianto, 

Mori  P afflitta  vergine, 

Ahi ! di  quel  salce  accanto  ! 

Mori — Che  duol ! P ingrato  ! Ahime,  die  il 
pianto 

Proseguir  non  mi  fa  ? Parti,  ricevi 

Da’  labbri  dell5  arnica  il  bacio  estremo. 

Ah,  che  dici? — obbedisco — Oh,  come  io  treino  ! 

[Parte. 

Deh,  calm  a,  0 Ciel  , nel  sonno 
Per  poco  le  mie  pene  ; 

Fa  che  P amato  bene 
Mi  venga  a con  solar. 

Se  poi  son  vani  i preghi, 

Di  mai  breve  urna  in  seno 
Venga  di  pianto  almeno 
Il  cenere  a bagnar. 

[Ella  cala  la  tendina , e si  getta  sid  letto. 


SCENA  II. 

Otello  s'  introduce  nella  stanza  di  Desdemona  per  una 
seer  eta  porta , ienendo  in  mano  un  accesa  lucerna , ed 

trn  pugnale. 

Otel.  Eccomi  giunto  inosservata  e solo 

Nella  stanza  fatal — Iago  involommi 
A1  mio  vicin  periglio.  Egli  i miei  passi 
Dirigere  qui  seppe.  [Rimane  per  un  momento 
attonito , indi  attento  guarda  in  giro . 

Il  silenzio  m’  addita. 


OTHELLO. 


51 


But  wearied  at  length  of  pouring  forth 
Her  sighs  and  laments, 

Alas  ! the  afflicted  virgin 
Breathed  her  last  under  that  willow  ! 

She  breathed  her  last — How  sad  ! the  ungrateful 
man ! 

Alas,  I am  unable  to  continue 
The  melancholy  song  ! Go,  receive. 

From  the  lips  of  thy  friend,  her  last  kiss. 

Emi.  Ay,  what  say’st  thou?  — I obey — Oh,  what 
trembling  seizes  me  ! [ Exit 

Des.  Oh,  calm,  ye  Heavens  ! in  slumber 
For  a while  at  least,  my  sorrows ; 

Grant  me  that  the  beloved  of  my  heart 
May  come  to  console  me. 

But  if  my  prayers  are  in  vain, 

Let  him  shortly  come  at  least 
To  bathe  with  his  tears 
The  dust  within  my  urn. 

[She  draws  the  curtain  and  throve  herself 
on  the  bed. 

SCENE  II. 

Othello  enters  the  chamber  of  Desdemona  by  a secret 
door , holding  in  the  one.  hand  a lighted  lamp , and  in 
the  other  a dagger : lastly,  Lucio. 

Oth.  Alone  and  unobserved  I have  reached 

The  fatal  chamber — Iago  has  rescued  me 
From  the  danger  that  awaited  me.  He  knew 
How  to  guide  my  footsteps  hither. 

[He  remains  for  a moment  lost  in  thought, 
then  he  loohs  carefidly  around. 

This  silence  declares 

That,  secure  of  my  departure, 


52 


OTELLO. 


Ch?  ella,  di  mai  partenza  omai  sicura? 

Sogna  il  rivale,  e piu  di  me  non  cura. 

[ Riguardando  verso  la  tendina  del  letto. 

Quanto  t > inganni ! ora  egli  e al  suol  trafitto  ! 
Che  dissi  ? — Ah  omai  si  compia  il  mio  delitto ! 

\ Pian  piano  si  avvicina  al  letto , ed  apre  le  ten - 
dine  nel  massimo  tumulto  del  cuore. 

Che  miro  1 — aime  ! — quegli  occhi,  abbench&  chi- 
usi, 

Pur  mi  parlano  al  cor  ! quel  volto  in  cui 
Natura  impresse  i piu  bei  pregi  sui, 

Mi  colpisce,  m*  arresta  ! 

[ Confuso,  s'1  allontana  del  letto . 
Ma  se  piu  mio  non  6 — perch&  serbarlo 
Struggasi.  E chi  mai  puote 

[. Avvicinandasi  di  nuovo  a lei . 
Riprodurne  P egual. 

\Indi  si  allontana  da  lei  perplesso  ed  irreso- 
lute. 

E’  sua  la  colpa, 

Se  il  mio  temuto  aspetto 
L’  allontana  da  me  ? Perch&  un  sembiante, 
Barbaro  ciel ; non  damn,  in  cui  scolpito 
Si  vedesse  il  mio  cor  ? — che  forse — allora — 

Che  dico  ? — E il  tradimento 

Non  merta  il  mio  rigor  ? Mora  P indegna  ! 

[A vvicinandosi  di  nuovo  al  letto * 
A hi,  trema  il  braccio  ancor  : crudele  indugio ! 

[Rimimndo  la  face. 
Eccone  la  cagion—tolgasi — 0 notte, 

[Posa  la  face  a terra . 
Che  mi  devi  sul  ciglio  eiem&mente 


OTHELLO. 


53 


She  dreams  of  my  rival,  and  cares  no  more  for 
me. 

[ Looking  towards  the  curtains  of  the  bed . 

How  much  thou  art  deceived ! soon  shall  he  lie 
stretched  on  the  earth — 

What  have  I said  ? — No,  never  let  my  criminal 
wish  be  fulfilled ! 

[He  advances  softly  towards  the  bed , and  opens 
the  curtains  in  the  greatest  agitation . 

What  do  I see,  alas  ! — -those  eyes,  though  closed, 
Speak  to  my  heart ! that  face,  on  which 
Nature  has  impressed  the  sweetest  expression  of 
entreaty, 

Overcomes  and  disarms  me ! 

[Confused,  he  retires  from  the  bed . 
But  if  she  is  no  longer  mine — why  spare  her  ? 
Let  her  perish — and  yet  where  can 

[Again  approaching  the  bed . 
another  such  be  found  ? 

[Again  he  withdraws  from  her , perplexed  and 
irresolute, . 

Here  is  the  fault, 

If,  dreading  the  sight  of  me, 

She  keeps  at  a distance  from  me.  Why,  barbarous 
Heaven ! 

Didst  thou  not  give  me  a countenance  on  which 
my  heart 

Might  have  been  seen  pictured?  Then,  per- 
chance— 

What  do  I say  ? — Does  not  her  treachery 
Merit  my  rigor  ? Let  the  worthless  one  die  ! 

[Again  approaching  the  bed . 
Ah,  my  hand  trembles  still ; cruel  delay  5 

[Looking  at  the  light . 

Behold  the  cause — put  out  the  light. — O night. 

[He  places  the  light  on  the  ground . 

That  with  thy  darkness  shouldst  eternally 
3* 


54 


OTELLO. 


Des. 

Otel. 


Des. 


Otel. 

Des. 

Otel. 

Des. 


Otel. 


Colle  tenebre  tue  coprir  P orrore 
Di  questo  infausto  giorno  ! 

( dormendo .)  Amato  ben. 

Che  cento  ? — Aliim6  ! qual  nome  ! 
Sogna,  o e pur  desta  ? 

[ Un  lampo , che  passa  a traverso  della  Jinestra 
gli  mostra  eld  ella  dor  me. 

Ah,  che  tra  i lampi  il  cielo 
A me  piu  chiaro  il  suo  delitto  addita, 

E a compir  la  vendetta  ah  si  in’  invita. 

[ Un  forte  tuono  si  ascolta:  Des.  si  desta , e tra 
frequent i lampi  riconosce  Otel. 

Iniqua  ! 

Ahiine — che  veggo  ? 

Come  mai  qui  giungesti  1 

Come  tu  puoi  ? — ma  no — contenta  io  t5  offro 

Inerme  il  petto  mio, 

Se  piu  quelP  alma  tua  pieta  non  sente. 

La  tradisti,  crudel ! 

Sono  innocente. 

Ed  osi  ancor,  spergiura  1 ' 

Piu  frenarmi  non  so. 

Rabbia  dispetto 
Mi  trafiggono  a gara. 

Ah,  padre  ! ah  che  mai  feci  1 

E sol  colpa  la  mia,  P averti  amato  ! 

Uccidimi  se  vuoi,  perfido,  ingrato  : 

Non  arrestare  il  colpo, 

Vibralo  a questo  core 
Sfoga  il  tuo  reo  furore ; 

Intrepida  morro. 

Ma  sappi  pria  che  mori 
Per  tuo  maggior  tormento 
Che  gia  il  tuo  bene  e spento, 

Che  fago  il  trucido. 


OTHELLO. 


65 


Des. 

Oth. 


Des, 


Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 


Des. 


Oth. 


Veil  this  brow  to  cover  the  horror 
Of  this  unhappy  day. 

(in  her  sleep.)  My  dear  beloved  ! 

What  do  I hear  1 — Ah,  that  name  ! 
Sleeps  she,  or  is  she  awake  ? 

\_A  flash  of  lightning , that  passes  across  the 
window , shoivs  him  that  she  is  asleep . 

Ah  ! Heaven  with  its  lightnings 
Shows  me  more  clearly  her  crime, 

And  invites  me  to  complete  my  vengeance. 

loud  clap  of  thunder  is  heard . Des. 

awakes , and,  amid  the  freguent  flashes  of 
lightning , recognises  Oth. 

Wretch  ! 

Ah,  what  do  I see  ? 

How  camst  thou  hither  % but  no — contented  I offer 
My  defenceless  bosom, 

If  that  soul  is  dead  to  the  voice  of  pity. 

Thou  hast  betrayed  it,  cruel  one  ! 

I am  innocent. 

And  darest  thou  still,  perjured  one — • 

I can  contain  no  longer.  Rage  and  fury  rend 
my  heart ! 

Ah,  father  ! Oh,  what  have  I done  1 
I alone  am  culpable  in  having 
Loved  thee.  Behold  ! I am  thy 
Victim,  perfidious  wretch  ! do 
Not  withhold  the  blow,  but  aim 
It  at  my  heart — dauntless  I’ll  await 
The  vent  of  thy  impious 
Fury,  and  death. 

But  know,  before  thou  diest,  that, 

For  thy  greater  affliction, 

Thy  lover  has  met  with  death — • 

5T  was  Iago  who  slew  him. 


56 


OTELLO. 


Des.  Che  sento,  oh  Dio  ! che  ascolto  7 
Fidarti  a lui  potesti 
A un  vile — a un  traditor  7 
Otel.  Ah  ! vile ! ben  comprendo 
Perche  cosi  t’  adiri 
Ma  inutili  sospiri 
Or  partono  dal  cor  ! 


Des. 

Ah,  crudel ! 

Otel. 

Di  rabbia  io  f'remo 

Des. 

Ah  qual  giorno  ! 

Otel. 

Il  giorno  estremo. 

Des. 

Che  mai  dici  7 

Otel. 

A te  sara. 

a 2. 

Notte  per  me  funesta, 

Fiera  crudel  tempesta 
Accresci  coi  tuoi  fulmini, 

Col  tuo  fragore  orribile 
Accressi  il  mio  furor  ! 

II  palpito  P orror  ! 

[I  l temper  ale  cresce , i tuoni  si  succedono 
con  gran  fragore . 

Des.  O ciel,  se  me  punisci 

E’  giusto  il  tuo  rigor. 

[I  toni  cessano , ma  i lampi  continuano . 

Otel.  Tu  d’  insultarmi  ardisci ! 

Ed  io  m’  arresto  ancor  7 

Des.  Uccidimi — ti  affretta, 

Saziati  alfin,  crudel ! 

Otel.  Si  compia  la  vendetta ! [La  trafigge  col  pugnale. 

Des.  Aim& ! 

Otel.  Mori,  infedel ! 

[Otel.  si  allontana  dal  letto  nel  massiino  dis- 
ordinej e spavento : cerca  di  occultare  il  suo 
delitto , e V oggetto  del  suo  dolore  con  tirare  le 
tendine  del  letto . Dopo  un  breve  silenzio 
sentendo  battere . 

Che  sento  7— Chi  batte  7— 


OTHELLO. 


57 


Des. 


Oth. 


Des. 

Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 


Des. 


Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 

Des. 

Oth. 


O God,  what  do  I hear  ? couldst 
Thou  confide  in  him  ? 

In  a vile  traitor  ? 

Ah  ! wretch,  I well  know  the  reason 
Why  thou  dost  thus  provoke 
Thyself ; but  those  sighs  are  useless. 

Ah  ! cruel  man. 

I shudder  with  fury. 

Oh  what  a day  ! 

It  is  thy  last. 

What  sayest  thou? 

Thy  last  day. 

a 2, 

What  fatal  night  for  me  ! 

Unmerciful,  cruel  tempest, 

Thou  increasest  with  thy 
Thunderbolts  in  me.  With  thy 
Horrid  clamor,  my  fury 
Increases  the  throb  of  my  heart. 

[The  storm  increases  ; the  peals  of  thunder 
succeed  each  other  with  violence . 

O Heaven  ! if  thou  punisliest  me, 

Thy  severity  is  just. 

[The  thunder  ceases , hut  the  lightning  continues. 

Darest  thou  thus  insult  me  ! 

And  do  1 still  withhold  my  hand  ? 

Kill  me — haste  thee,  cruel  man ! 

To  satiate  thy  vengeance  ! 

Be  my  vengeance  appeased  ! [He  stahs  her. 
Ah  me ! — 

Die,  faithless  one  ! 

[Oth.  withdraws  from  the  hed  in  the  greatest 
disorder  and  dread;  seeks  to  conceal  his 
crime  and  the  object  of  his  grief  by  drawing 
the  curtains  of  the  bed . After  a short  silence , 
a knocking  is  heard. 

What  do  I hear  ? — Who  knocks  ? — 


58 


OTELLO. 


Goto . Otello  ! [Di  fuw'i, 

Otel.'  Qaal  voce  ! — 

Occultati  atroce 

Rimorso  nel  cor.  [Otel.  apre  laparta. 

Voce  di  ( La  morte  d’  Iago 
dentro . ) Scopri  il  tradimento. 

La  gioja — il  contento 
Si  vede  tornar. 

SCENA  ULTIMA. 

Elmiro,  Rodrigo,  con  Seguito  e detti . 

Rod.  Il  perfido  Iago 

Cangio  nel  mio  petto 
Lo  sdegno  in  affetto  : 

Ti  cedo  il  tuo  ben. 

Elm.  La  man  di  mia  figlia — 

Otel.  La  man  di  tua  figlia  ! j Con  sorpresa . 

Si — unirmi  a lei  deggio — 

Rimira  ! — [Scopre  la  tendina . 

Elm.  Che  veggo  ? 

Otel.  Punito  n’  avra— - [St  uccide. 

Tutti  Ah  ! 


fine. 


OTHELLO. 


59 


Cho. 

Othello  ! 

[ from  without . 

Oth. 

That  voice  ! 

0 fierce  remorse, 

Hide  thyself  in  this  heart. 

Oth. 

opens  the  door . 

Voices  \ 

| The  death  of  the  faithless  Iago 

ivithin.  j 

\ Discovered  the  villany. 
Joy  and  contentment 
Are  at  length  restored. 

SCENE  THE  LAST. 


Elmiro,  Roderigo,  with  A ttendants , and  the  above . 

Rod.  The  perfidious  Iago 

Has  changed  my  resentment 
Into  affection : 

I yield  to  thee  thy  heart’s  treasure. 

Elm.  The  hand  of  my  daughter  ! — [ Confounded . 

Oth.  The  hand  of  thy  daughter  ! 

Yes — I must  be  united  to  her — 

Behold  ! [ Opens  the  curtain . 

Elm.  What  do  I see  ? 

Oth.  I thus  punish  myself — [lie  kills  himself. 

All  Ah ! 


THE  END. 


■-> 
*1  . ; 


. 

■ 


. :-y  V,,  . 


' 


■ ' " V / 


CAUTION!! 


TO  THE  PATRONS  OF  THE  OPERA !!! 

JST-  The  patrons  of  the  Opera  are  cautioned  against 
buying,  outside  of  the  Opera  House,  spurious  copies  of 
Operas.  THE  ONLY  CORRECT  ACTING  COPIES  OF 
ALL  ITALIAN  OPERAS,  ARE  TO  BE  OBTAINED 
IN  THE  OPERA  HOUSE. 


I 


[Price  3 Cents. 


OTHELLO 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


BY 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


AME 


New  York 

RICAN  BOOK  EXCHANGE 
7 64  Broadway 

1881  ^ 


/'star* 

J ft  U 


T H E L L 


THE  MOON  OF  VENICE, 


OTHELLO,  THE  MOOK  OE  VENICE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE. 


Duke  op  Venice. 

Brabantio,  a senator. 

Other  Senators. 

Gratiano,  brother  to  Brabantio. 
Lodovico,  kinsman  to  Brabantio. 
Othello,  a noble  Moor  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Venetian  state. 
Cassio,  his  lieutenant. 

Iago,  his  ancient. 

Roderigo,  a Venetian  gentleman. 
Montano,  Othello’s  predecessor 
in  the  government  of  Cyprus. 

Scene:  Venice:  a 


Clown,  servant  to  Othello. 

Desdemona,  daughter  to  Braban- 
tio and  wife  to  Othello. 

Emilia,  wife  to  Iago. 

Bianca,  mistress  to  Cassio. 

Sailor,  Messenger,  Herald,  Of- 
ficers, Gentlemen,  Musicians, 
and  Attendants. 


Sea-port  in  Cyprus . 


ACT  I. 


Scene  I.  Venice . A street. 

Enter  Roderigo  and  Iago. 

Bod.  Tush ! never  tell  me ; I take  it  much  unkindly 
That  thou,  Iago,  who  hast  had  my  purse 
As  if  the  strings  were  thine,  shouldst  know  of  this. 

Iago.  ’Sblood,  but  you  will  not  hear  me: 

If  ever  I did  dream  of  such  a matter, 

Abhor  me. 

Bod.  Thou  told’st  me  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy  hate. 
Iago.  Despise  me,  if  I do  not.  Three  great  ones  of  the 
city, 

In  personal  suit  to  make  me  his  lieutenant, 

Off-capp’d  to  him:  and,  by  the  faith  of  man,  10 

I know  my  price,  I am  worth  no  worse  a place: 

But  he,  as  loving  his  own  pride  and  purposes, 

Evades  them,  with  a bombast  circumstance 
Horribly  stuff’d  with  epithets  of  war; 

And,  in  conclusion, 

Nonsuits  my  mediators;  for,  “ Certes,”  says  he,  • 

“ I have  already  chose  my  officer.” 

(2) 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


3 


And  what  was  he  ? 

Forsooth,  a great  arithmetician, 

One  Michael  Cassio,  a Florentine,  20 

f A fellow  almost  damn’d  in  a fair  wdfe; 

That  never  set  a squadron  in  the  field, 

Nor  the  division  of  a battle  knows 

More  than  a spinster;  unless  the  bookish  theoric, 

Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 
As  masterly  as  he : mere  prattle,  without  practice, 

Is  all  his  soldiership.  But  he,  sir,  had  the  election: 

And  I,  of  whom  his  eyes  had  seen  the  proof 
At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus  and  on  other  grounds 
Christian  and  heathen,  must  be  be-lee’d  and  calm’d  30 
By  debitor  and  creditor:  this  counter-caster, 

He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 

And  I — God  bless  the  mark! — his  Moorsliip’s  ancient. 

Bod.  By  heaven,  I rather  would  have  been  his  hangman. 

Iago.  Why,  there’s  no  remedy;  ’tis  the  curse  of  service, 
Preferment  goes  by  letter  and  affection, 

And  not  by  old  gradation,  where  each  second 
Stood  heir  to  the  first.  Now,  sir,  be  judge  yourself, 
Whether  I in  any  just  term  am  affined 
To  love  the  Moor. 

Bod.  I would  not  follow  him  then.  40 

Iago.  O,  sir,  content  you: 

I follow  him  to  serve  my  turn  upon  him: 

AYe  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  follow’d.  You  shall  mark 
Many  a duteous  and  knee-crooking  knave, 

That,  doting  on  liis. own  obsequious  bondage, 

Wears  out  his  time,  much  like  his  master’s  ass, 

For  nought  but  provender,  and  when  he’s  old,  cashier’d: 
Whip  me  such  honest  knaves.  Others  there  are 
Who,  trimm’d  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty,  50 

Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves, 

And,  throwing  but  shows  of  service  on  their  lords, 

Do  well  thrive  by  them  and  when  they  have  lined  their 
coats 

Do  themselves  homage:  these  fellows  have  some  soul; 

And  such  a one  do  I profess  myself.  For,  sir, 

It  is  as:sure  as  you  are  Roderigo, 

Were  I the  Moor,  I would  not  be  Iago: 

In  following  him,  I follow  but  myself; 

Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I for  love  and  duty, 

But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end:  60 

For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 


4 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


In  compliment  extern,  ’tis  not  long  after 
But  I will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at:  I am  not  what  I am. 

Rod.  What  a full  fortune  does  the  thick-lips  owe, 

If  he  can  carry’t  thus ! 

Iago.  Call  up  her  father, 

Rouse  him:  make  after  him,  poison  his  delight, 

Proclaim  him  in  the  streets;  incense  her  kinsmen. 

And,  though  he  in  a fertile  climate  dwell,  70 

Plague  him  with  flies:  though  that  his  joy  be  joy, 

Yet  throw  such  changes  of  vexation  on’t, 

As  it  may  lose  some  colour. 

Rod.  Here  is  her  father’s  house;  I’ll  call  aloud. 

Iago.  Do,  with  like  timorous  accent  and  dire  yell 
As  when,  by  night  and  negligence,  the  fire 
1^ spied  in  populous  cities. 

Rod.  What,  ho,  Brabantio!  Signior  Brabantio,  ho ! 

Iago.  Awake!  what,  ho,  Brabantio!  thieves!  thieves! 
thieves! 

Look  to  your  house,  your  daughter,  and  your  bags!  80 
Thieves!  thieves! 

Brabantio  appears  above,  at  a window. 

Bra.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  terrible  summons? 

What  is  the  matter  there? 

Rod.  Signior,  is  all  your  family  within? 

Iago.  Are  your  doors  lock’d? 

Bra.  Why,  wherefore  ask  you  this? 

Iago.  ’Zounds,  sir,  you’re  robb’d ; for  shame,  put  on  your 
gown; 

Your  heart  is  burst,  you  have  lost  half  your  soul; 

Even  now,  now,  very  now,  an  old  black  ram 
Is  tupping  your  white  ewe.  Arise,  arise; 

Awake  the  snorting  citizens  wuth  the  bell,  90 

Or  else  the  devil  will  make  a grandsire  of  you: 

Arise,  I say. 

Bra.  What,  have  you  lost  your  wits? 

Rod.  Most  reverend  signior,  do  you  know  my  voice? 
Bra.  Not  I:  what  are  you? 

Rod.  My  name  is  Roderigo. 

Bra.  The  worser  welcome: 

I have  charged  thee  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors: 

In  honest  plainness  thou  hast  heard  me  say 
My  daughter  is  not  for  thee;  and  now,  in  madness, 

Being  full  of  supper  and  distempering  draughts, 

Upon  malicious  bravery,  dost  thou  come  JOQ 

To  start  my  quiet. 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


j5 

Rod.  Sir,  sir,  sir, — 

Bra.  But  tliou  must  needs  be  sure 

My  spirit  and  my  place  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  bitter  to  thee. 

Rod.  Patience,  good  sir. 

Bra.  What  tell’st  thou  me  of  robbing?  this  is  Venice; 
My  house  is  not  a grange. 

Rod.  Most  brave  Brabantio, 

In  simple  and  pure  soul  I come  to  you. 

Iago.  ’Zounds,  sir,  you  are  one  of  those  that  will  not 
serve  God,  if  the  devil  bid  you.  Because  we  come  to  do 
you  service  and  you  think  we  are  ruffians,  you’ll  have  your 
daughter  covered  with  a Barbary  horse;  you’ll  have  your 
nephews  neigh  to  you;  you’ll  have  coursers  for  cousins 
and  gennets  for  germans. 

Bra.  What  profane  wretch  art  thou? 

Iago.  I am  one,  sir,  that  comes  to  tell  you  your  daughter 
and  the  Moor  are  now  making  the  beast  with  two  backs. 

Bra.  Thou  art  a villain. 

Iago.  You  are — a senator.  119 

Bra.  This  thou  shalt  answer;  I know  thee,  Roderigo. 

Rod.  Sir,  I will  answer  any  thing.  But,  I beseech  you, 
Ift  be  your  pleasure  and  most  wise  consent, 

As  partly  I find  it  is,  that  your  fair  daughter, 

At  this  odd-even  and  dull  watch  o’  the  night, 

Transported,  with  no  worse  nor  better  guard 
But  with  a knave  of  common  hire,  a gondolier, 

To  the  gross  clasps  of  a lascivious  Moor, — 

If  this  be  known  to  }Tou  and  }Tour  allowance, 

We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs; 

But  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  me  130 

We  have  your  wrong  rebuke.  Do  not  believe 
That,  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 

I thus  would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence: 

Your  daughter,  if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, 

I say  again,  hath  made  a gross  revolt ; 

Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit  and  fortunes 
In  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger 
Of  here  and  every  where.  Straight  satisfy  yourself: 

If  she  be  in  her  chamber  or-your  house, 

Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state  140 

For  thus  deluding  you. 

Bra.  Strike  on  the  tinder,  ho! 

Give  me  a taper!  call  up  all  my  people! 

This  accident  is  not  unlike  my  dream: 

Belief  of  it  oppresses  me  already. 

Light,  I say ! light ! 


\Exit  above  r 


G 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


Iago . Farewell  ; for  I must  leave  you* 

It  seems  not  meet,  nor  wholesome  to  my  place, 

To  be  produced — as,  if  I stay,  I shall — 

Against  the  Moor:  for,  I do  know,  the  state, 

However  this  may  gall  him  with  some  check, 

Cannot  with  safety  cast  him,  for  lie’s  embark’d  150 

With  such  loud  reason  to  the  Cyprus  wars, 

Which  even  now  stand  in  act,  that,  for  their  souls, 
Another  of  his  fathom  they  have  none, 

To  lead  their  business:  in  which  regard, 

Though  I do  hate  him  as  I do  hell-pains. 

Yet,  for  necessity  of  present  life, 

I must  show  out  a flag'and  sign  of  love, 

Which  is  indeed  but  sign.  That  you  shall  surely  find  him, 
Lead  to  the  Sagittary  the  raised  search; 

And  there  will  I be  with  him.  So,  farewell.  {Exit.  160 

Enter , below,  Brabantio,  and  Servants  with  torches. 

Bra.  It  is  too  true  an  evil:  gone  she  is; 

And  what’s  to  come  of  my  despised  time 
Is  nought  but  bitterness.  Now,  Roderigo, 

Where  didst  thou  see  her?  O unhappy  girl! 

With  the  Moor,  say’st  thou?  Who  would  be  a father! 
How  didst  thou  know  ’twas  she?  O,  she  deceives  me 
Past  thought!  What  said  she  to  you?  Get  more  tapers: 
Raise  all  my  kindred.  Are  they  married,  think  you? 

Rod.  Truly,  I think  they  are. 

Bra.  O heaven!  How  got  she  out?  O treason  of  the 
blood!  170 

Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters’  minds 
By  what  you  see  them  act.  Is  there  not  charms 
By  which  the  property  of  youth  and  maidhood 
May  be  abused?  Have  you  not  read,  Roderigo, 

Of  some  such  thing? 

Rod.  Yes,  sir,  I have  indeed. 

Bra.  Call  up  my  brother.  O,  w^ould  you  had  had  her! 
Some  one  way,  some  another.  Do  you  know 
Where  we  may  apprehend  her  and  the  Moor? 

Rod.  I think  I can  discover  him,  if  you  please 
To  get  good  guard  and  go  along  with  me.  180 

Bra.  Pray  you,  lead  on.  At  every  house  I’ll  call; 

I may  command  at  most.  Get  weapons,  ho! 

And  raise  some  special  officers  of  night. 

On,  good  Roderigo : I’ll  deserve  your  pains,  [ Exeunt . 


SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


Scene  II.  Another  street. 

Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Attendants  with  torches . 

Iago.  Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I have  slain  men, 

Yet  do  I hold  it  very  stuff  o’  the  conscience 
To  do  no  contrived  murder:  I lack  iniquity 
Sometimes  to  do  me  service:  nine  or  ten  times 
I had  thought  to  have  yerk’d  him  here  under  the  ribs. 

Oth.  ’Tis  better  as  it  is. 

Iago.  Nay,  but  he  prated, 

And  spoke  such  scurvy  and  provoking  terms 

Against  your  honour 

That,  with  the  little  godliness  I have, 

I did  full  hard  forbear  him.  But,  I pray  you,  sir,  10 
Are  you  fast  married?  Be  assured  of  this, 

That  the  magnifico  is  much  beloved, 

And  hath  in  his  effect  a voice  potential 
As  double  as  the  duke’s:  he  will  divorce  you; 

Or  put  upon  you  what  restraint  and  grievance 
The  law,  with  all  his  might  to  enforce  it  on, 

Will  give  him  cable. 

Oth.  Let  him  do  his  spite: 

My  services  which  I have  done  the  signiory 

Shall  out-tongue  his  complaints.  ’Tis  yet  to  know, — 

Which,  when  I know  that  boasting  is  an  honour,  20 

I shall  promulgate — I fetch  my  life  and  being 

From  men  of  royal  siege,  and  my  demerits 

May  speak  unbonneted  to  as  proud  a fortune 

As  this  that  I have  reach’d : for  know,  Iago, 

But  that  I love  the  gentle  Desdemona, 

I would  not  my  unhoused  free  condition 

Put  into  circumscription  and  confine 

For  the  sea’s  worth.  But,  look!  what  lights  come  yond? 

Iago.  Those  are  the  raised  father  and  his  friends: 

You  were  best  go  in. 

Oth.  Not  I;  I must  be  found:  30 

My  parts,  my  title  and  my  perfect  soul 
Shall  manifest  me  rightly.  Is  it  they? 

Iago.  By  Janus,  I think  no. 

Enter  Cassio,  and  certain  Officers  icith  torches . 

Oth.  The  servants  of  the  duke,  and  my  lieutenant. 

The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you,  friends! 

What  is  the  news? 

Gas.  The  duke  does  greet  you,  general, 

And  he  requires  your  liaste-post-liaste  appearance. 

Even  on  the  instant. 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


8 


Oth.  Wliat  is  the  matter,  think  you? 

Gas.  Something  from  Cyprus,  as  I may  divine: 

It  is  a business  of  some  heat:  the  galleys  40 

Have  sent  a dozen  sequent  messengers 
This  very  night  at  one  another’s  heels, 

And  many  of  the  consuls,  raised  and  met, 

Are  at  the  duke’s  already:  you  have  been  hotly  call’d  for; 
When,  being  not  at  your  lodging  to  be  found, 

The  senate  hath  sent  about  three  several  quests 
To  search  you  out. 

Oth.  ’Tis  well  I am  found  by  you. 

t will  but  spend  a word  here  in  the  house, 

And  go  with  you.  [Exit. 

Cas.  Ancient,  what  makes  he  here? 

Iago.  ’Faith,  he  to-night  hath  boarded  a land  carack:  50 
If  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he’s  made  for  ever. 

Cas.  I do  not  understand. 

Iago.  He’s  married. 

Cas.  To  who? 

Re-enter  Othello. 

Iago.  Marry,  to — Come,  captain,  will  you  go? 

Oth.  Have  with  you. 

Cas.  Here  comes  another  troop  to  seek  for  you. 

Iago.  It  is  Brabantio.  General,  be  advised; 

He  comes  to  bad  intent. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Roderigo,  and  Officers  with  torches  and 
weapons. 

Oth.  Holla!  stand  there! 

Rod.  Signior,  it  is  the  Moor. 

Bra.  Down  with  him,  thief! 

[They  draw  on  both  sides. 
Iago.  You,  Roderigo!  come,  sir,  I am  for  you. 

Oth.  Keep  up  your  bright  swords,  for  the  dew  will  rust 
them. 

Good  signior,  you  shall  more  command  with  years  60 
Than  with  your  weapons. 

Bra.  O thou  foul  thief,  where  hast  thou  stow’d  my 
daughter? 

Damn’d  as  thou  art,  thou  hast  enchanted  her; 

For  I’ll  refer  me  to  all  things  of  sense, 

If  she  in  chains  of  magic  were  not  bound, 

Whether  a maid  so  tender,  fair  and  happy, 

So  opposite  to  marriage  that  she  sliunn'd 
The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation, 

Would  ever  have,  to  incur  a general  mock, 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


9 


Run  from  her  guardage  to  the  sooty  bosom  70 

Of  such  a thing  as  thou,  to  fear,  not  to  delight. 

Judge  me  the  world,  if  ’tis  not  gross  in  sense 
That  thou  hast  practised  on  her  with  foul  charms, 

Abused  her  delicate  youth  with  drugs  or  minerals 
That  weaken  motion:  I’ll  liave’t  disputed  on; 

’Tis  probable  and  palpable  to  thinking. 

I therefore  apprehend  and  do  attach  thee 
For  an  abuser  of  the  world,  a practiser 
Of  arts  inhibited  and  out  of  warrant. 

Lay  hold  upon  him : if  he  do  resist,  80 

Subdue  him  at  his  peril. 

Oth.  Hold  your  hands, 

Both  you  of  my  inclining,  and  the  rest: 

Were  it  my  cue  to  fight,  I should  have  known  it 
Without  a prompter.  Where  will  you  that  I go 
To  answer  this  your  charge? 

Bra.  To  prison,  till  fit  time 

Of  law  and  course  of  direct  session 
Call  thee  to  answer. 

Oth.  What  if  I do  obey? 

How  may  the  duke  be  therewith  satisfied, 

Whose  messengers  are  here  about  my  side, 

Upon  some  present  business  of  the  state  90 

To  bring  me  to  him? 

First  Off.  ’Tis  true,  most  worthy  signior; 

The  duke’s  in  council,  and  your  noble  self, 

I am  sure,  is  sent  for. 

Bra.  How!  the  duke  in  council! 

In  this  time  of  the  night!  Bring  him  away: 

Mine’s  not  an  idle  cause:  the  duke  himself, 

Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  state, 

Cannot  but  feel  this  wrong  as  ’twere  their  own; 

For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 

Bond-slaves  and  pagans  shall  our  statesmen  be. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  A council-chamber. 

The  Duke  and  Senators  sitting  at  a table;  Officers  attending. 

Duke.  There  is  no  composition  in  these  news 
That  gives  them  credit. 

First  Sen.  Indeed,  they  are  disproportion’d; 

My  letters  say  a hundred  and  seven  galleys. 

Duke.  And  mine,  a hundred  and  forty. 

Sec.  Sen.  And  mine,  two  hundred: 

But  though  they  jump  not  on  a just  account,— 


10 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


As  in  these  cases,  where  the  aim  reports, 

Tis  oft  with  difference — yet  do  they  all  confirm 
A Turkish  fleet,  and  bearing  up  to  Cyprus. 

Duke.  Nay,  it  is  possible  enough  to  judgement: 

I do  not  so  secure  me  in  the  error,  10 

But  the  main  article  I do  approve 
In  fearful  sense. 

Sailor.  [ Within ] What,  ho!  what,  ho!  what,  ho! 

First  Off.  A messenger  from  the  galleys. 

Enter  a Sailor. 

Duke.  Now,  wrhat’s  the  business? 

Sail.  The  Turkish  preparation  makes  for  Rhodes; 

So  was  I bid  report  here  to  the  state 
By  Signior  Angelo. 

Duke.  How  say  you  by  this  change? 

First  Sen.  This  cannot  be, 

By  no  assay  of  reason : *tis  a pageant, 

To  keep  us  in  false  gaze.  When  we  consider 

The  importancy  of  Cyprus  to  the  Turk,  20 

And  let  ourselves  again  but  understand, 

That  as  it  more  concerns  the  Turk  than  Rhodes, 

So  may  he  with  more  facile  question  bear  it, 

For  that  it  stands  not  in  such  warlike  brace, 

But  altogether  lacks  the  abilities 

That  Rhodes  is  dress’d  in:  if  we  make  thought  of  this, 

We  must  not  think  the  Turk  is  so  unskilful 
To  leave  that  latest  which  concerns  him  first. 

Neglecting  an  attempt  of  ease  and  gain, 

To  wake  and  wage  a danger  profitless.  30 

Duke.  Nay,  in  all  confidence,  he’s  not  for  Rhodes. 

First  Off.  Here  is  more  news. 

Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  The  Ottomites,  reverend  and  gracious, 

Steering  with  due  course  towards  the  isle  of  Rhodes, 

Have  there  injointed  them  with  an  after  fleet. 

First  Sen.  Ay,  so  I thought.  How  many,  as  you  guess? 

Mess.  Of  thirty  sail:  and  now  they  do  re-stem 
Their  backward  course,  bearing  with  frank  appearance 
Their  purposes  toward  Cyprus.  Signior  Montano, 

Your  trusty  and  most  valiant  servitor,  40 

With  his  free  duty  recommends  you  thus, 

And  prays  you  to  believe  him. 

Duke.  ’Tis  certain,  then,  for  Cyprus, 

Marcus  Luccicos,  is  not  he  in  town? 

First  Sen.  He’s  now  in  Florence. 


BcEjne  in.  j 


OTHELLO. 


ii 


Duke.  Write  from  us  to  him;  post-post-haste  dispatch. 

First  Sen.  Here  comes  Brabantio  and  the  valiant  Moor. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  Boderigo,  and  Officers. 

Duke.  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman.  . . 

[to  Brabantio ] I did  not  see  you;  welcome,  gentle  sigmor; 
We  lack’d  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night.  51 

Bra.  So  did  I yours.  Good  your  grace,  pardon  me; 
Neither  my  place  nor  aught  I heard  of  business 
Hath  raised  me  from  my  bed,  nor  doth  the  general  care 
Take  hold  on  me,  for  my  particular  grief 
Is  of  so  flood-gate  and  o’erbearing  nature 
That  it  engluts  and  swallows  other  sorrows 
And  it  is  still  itself. 

Duke.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Bra.  My  daughter  1 O,  my  daughter! 

Duke  and  Sen.  Dead? 

Bra.  Ay,  to  me; 

She  is  abused,  stol’n  from  me,  and  corrupted  60 

By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks; 

For  nature  so  preposterously  to  err, 

Being  not  deficient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense, 

Sans  witchcraft  could  not. 

Duke.  Whoe'er  he  be  that  in  this  foul  proceeding 
Hath  thus  beguiled  your  daughter  of  herself 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter 
After  your  own  sense,  yea,  though  our  proper  son 
Stood  in  your  action. 

Bra.  Humbly  I thank  your  grace.  70 

Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor,  whom  now,  it  seems, 

Your  special  mandate  for  the  state-affairs 
Hath  hither  brought. 

Duke  and  Sen.  We  are  very  sorry  for’t. 

Duke.  [To  Othello]  What,  in  your  own  part,  can  you  say 
to  this? 

Bra.  Nothing,  but  this  is  so. 

‘Oth.  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 

My  very  noble  and  approved  good  masters, 

That  I have  ta’en  away  this  old  man’s  daughter, 

It  is  most  true;  true,  I have  married  her: 

The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent,  no  more.  Bude  am  I in  my  speech, 

And  little  bless’d  with  the  soft  phrase  of  peace: 

For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years’  pith, 

Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 


80 


IS  OTHELLO.  [act  i. 

Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field, 

And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I speak, 

More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle, 

And  therefore  little  shall  I grace  my  cause 

In  speaking  for  myself.  Yet,  by  your  gracious  patience, 

I will  a round  unvarnish’d  tale  deliver  90 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 
"What  conjuration  and  wliat  mighty  magic, 

For  such  proceeding  I am  charged  withal, 

I won  his  daughter. 

Bra.  A maiden  never  bold ; 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blush’d  at  herself ; and  she,  in  spite  of  nature, 

Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing, 

To  fall  in  love  with  what  she  fear’d  to  look  on! 

It  is  a judgement  maim’d  and  most  imperfect 
That  will  confess  perfection  so  could  err  100 

Against  all  rules  of  nature,  and  must  be  driven 
To  find  out  practices  of  cunning  hell, 

Why  this  should  be.  I therefore  vouch  again 
That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o’er  the  blood, 

Or  with  some  dram  conjured  to  this  effect, 

He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke.  To  vouch  this,  is  no  proof, 

Without  more  wider  and  more  overt  test 
Than  these  thin  habits  and  poor  likelihoods 
Of  modern  seeming  do  prefer  against  him. 

First  Sen.  But,  Othello,  speak:  110 

Did  you  by  indirect  and  forced  courses 
Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid’s  affections? 

Or  came  it  by  request  and  such  fair  question 
As  soul  to  soul  affordetli? 

Oth.  I do  beseech  you, 

Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary, 

And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father: 

If  you  do  find  me  foul  in  her  report, 

The  trust,  the  office  I do  hold  of  you, 

Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

Duke.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither.  120 

Oth.  Ancient,  conduct  them:  you  best  know  the  place. 

[Exeunt  Iago  and  Attendants. 
And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 
I do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood, 

So  justly  to  your  grave  ears  I’ll  present 
How  I did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady’s  love, 

And  she  in  mine. 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


VS 

/Duke,  Say  it,  Othello. 

Otk , Her  father  loved  me;  oft  invited  me; 

Still  question’d  me  the  story  of  my  life, 

From  year  to  year,  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes,  130 

That  I have  pass’d. 

I ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 

To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it; 

Wherein  I spake  of  most  disastrous  chances, 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 

Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i’  the  imminent  deadly  breach, 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe 

And  sold  to  slavery,  of  my  redemption  thence 

And  portance  in  my  travels’  history : 

Wherein  of  antres  vast  and  deserts  idle,  140 

Rough  quarries,  rocks  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven, 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak, — such  was  the  process; 

And  of  the  Cannibals  that ’each  other  eat, 

The  Anthropophagi  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.  This  to  hear 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline: 

But  still  the  house-affairs  would  draw  her  thence: 

Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  dispatch, 

She’ld  come  again,  and  with  a greedy  ear 

Devour  up  my  discourse:  which  I observing,  150 

Took  once  a pliant  hour,  and  found  good  means 

To  draw  from  her  a prayer  of  earnest  heart 

That  I would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  intentively.  I did  consent, 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke 
That  my  youth  suffer’d.  My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a world  of  sighs: 

She  swore,  in  faith,  ’twas  strange,  ’twas  passing  strange, 
’Twas  pitiful,  ’twas  wondrous  pitiful:  161 

She  wish’d  she  had  not  heard  it,  yet  she  wish’d 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a man  she  thank’d  me, 
And  bade  me,  if  I had  a friend  that  loved  her, 

I should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 

And  that  would  woo  her.  Upon  this  hint  I spake: 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I had  pass’d, 

And  I loved  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I have  used: 

Here  comes  the  lady;  let  her  witness  it.  170 

Enter  Desdemona,  Iago,  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  I think  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter  too. 


14 


OTHELLO. 


[act  i. 


Good  Brabantio, 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best: 

Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rattier  use 
Than  their  bare  hands. 

Bra.  I pray  3rou,  hear  her  speak: 

If  she  confess  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 

Destruction  on  my  head,  if  my  bad  blame 
Light  on  the  man!  Come  hither,  gentle  mistress: 

Do  you  perceive  in  all  this  noble  company 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience? 

Des.  My  noble  father,  180 

I do  perceive  here  a divided  duty : 

To  you  I am  bound  for  life  and  education; 

My  life  and  education  both  do  learn  iuq 
How  to  respect  you;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty; 

I am  hitherto  your  daughter:  but  here’s  my  husband, 

And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  show’d 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father, 

So  much  I challenge  that  I may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor  my  lord. 

Bra.  God  be  wi’  you ! I have  done. 

Please  it  your  grace,  on  to  the  state  affairs:  190 

I had  rather  to  adopt  a child  than  get  it. 

Come  hither,  Moor: 

I here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
I would  keep  from  thee.  For  your  sake,  jewel, 

I am  glad  at  soul  I have  no  other  child; 

For  thy  escape  would  teach  me  tyranny, 

To  hang  clogs  on  them.  I have  done,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Let  me  speak  like  yourself,  and  lay  a sentence, 
Which,  as  a grise  or  step,  may  help  these  lovers  200 

Into  your  favour. 

When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended 
By  seeing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  depended. 

To  mourn  a mischief  that  is  past  and  gone 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on. 

What  cannot  be  preserved  when  fortune  takes 
Patience  her  injury  a mockery  makes. 

The  robb’d  that  smiles  steals  something  from  the  thief; 

He  robs  himself  that  spends  a bootless  grief. 

Bra.  So  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile;  ’ 210 

We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we.  can  smile. 

He  bears  the  sentence  well  that  nothing  bears 
But  the  free  comfort  which  from  thence  he  hears, 

But  he  hears  both  the  sentence  and  the  sorrow 
That,  to  pay  grief,  must  of  poor  patience  borrow. 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


15 


These  sentences,  to  sugar,  or  to  gall, 

Being  strong  on  both  sides,  are  equivocal: 

But  words  are  words;  I never  yet  did  hear 
That  the  bruised  heart  was  pierced  through  the  ear. 

I humbly  beseech  you,  proceed  to  the  affairs  of  state.  220 

Duke.  The  Turk  with  a most  mighty  preparation  makes 
for  Cyprus.  Othello,  the  fortitude  of  the  place  is  best 
known  to  you;  and  though  we  have  there  a substitute  of 
most  allowed  sufficiency,  yet  opinion,  a sovereign  mistress 
of  effects,  throws  a more  safer  voice  on  you:  you  must 
therefore  be  content  to  slubber  the  gloss  of  your  new  for- 
tunes with  this  more  stubborn  and  boisterous  expedition. 

Oth.  The  tyrant  custom,  most  grave  senators,  230 

Hath  made  the  flinty  and  steel  couch  of  war 
My  thrice-driven  bed  of  down : I do  agnize 
A natural  and  prompt  alacrity 
I find  in  hardness,  and  do  undertake 
These  present  wars  against  the  Ottomites. 

Most  humbly  therefore  bending  to  your  state, 

I crave  fit  disposition  for  my  wife, 

Due  reference  of  place  and  exhibition. 

With  such  accommodation  and  besort 
As  levels  with  her  breeding. 

Duke.  If  you  please,  240 

Be ’t  at  her  father’s. 

Bra.  I’ll  not  have  it  so. 

Oth.  Nor  I. 

Des.  Nor  I;  I would  not  there  reside, 

To  put  my  father  in  impatient  thoughts 
By  being  in  his  eye.  Most  gracious  duke, 

To  my  unfolding  lend  your  prosperous  ear; 

And  let  me  find  a charter  in  your  voice, 

To  assist  my  simpleness. 

Duke.  What  would  you,  Desdemona? 

Des.  That  I did  love  the  Moor  to  live  with  him, 

My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortunes  250 

May  trumpet  to  the  world : my  heart’s  subdued 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord: 

I saw  Othello’s  visage  in  his  mind, 

And  to  his  honours  and  his  valiant  parts 
Did  I my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate. 

So  that,  dear  lords,  if  I be  left  behind, 

A moth  of  peace,  and  he  go  to  the  war, 

The  rites  for  which  I love  him  are  bereft  me, 

And  I a heavy  interim  shall  support 
By  his  dear  absence.  Let  me  go  with  him, 

Oth , Let  her  have  your  voices. 


260 


16 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


Vouch  with  me,  heaven,  I therefore  beg  it  not, 

To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite, 

Nor  to  comply  with  heat — the  young  affects 
In  me  defunct — and  proper  satisfaction, 

But  to  be  free  and  bounteous  to  her  mind: 

And  heaven  defend  your  good  souls,  that  you  think 
I will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant 
For  she  is  with  me : no,  when  liglit-wing’d  toys 
Of  feather’d  Cupid  seel  with  wanton  dullness  270 

My  speculative  and  officed  instruments, 

That  my  disports  corrupt  and  taint  my  business. 

Let  housewives  make  a skillet  of  my  helm, 

And  all  indign  and  base  adversities 
Make  head  against  my  estimation ! 

Duke.  Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine, 

Either  for  her  stay  or  going:  the  affair  cries  haste, 

And  speed  must  answer  it. 

First  Sen . You  must  away  to-night. 

Oth.  With  all  my  heart. 

Duke.  At  nine  i’  the  morning  here  we’ll  meet  again.  280 
Othello,  leave  some  officer  behind, 

And  he  shall  our  commission  bring  to  you; 

With  such  things  else  of  quality  and  respect 
As  doth  import  you. 

Oth.  So  please  your  grace,  my  ancient: 

A man  he  is  of  honesty  and  trust: 

To  his  conveyance  I assign  my  wife, 

With  what  else  needful  your  good  grace  shall  think 
To  be  sent  after  me. 

Duke.  Let  it  be  so. 

Good  night  to  every  one.  [To  Brab.’]  And,  noble  signior, 
If  virtue  no  delighted  beauty  lack,  290 

Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black. 

First  Sen.  Adieu,  brave  Moor;  use  Desdemona  well. 

Bra.  Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see: 

She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee 

[Exeunt  Duke,  Senators , Officers , &c. 

Oth.  My  life  upon  her  faith ! Honest  Iago, 

My  Desdemona  must  I leave  to  thee: 

I prithee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her: 

And  bring  them  after  in  the  best  advantage. 

Come,  Desdemona;  I have  but  an  hour 

Of  love,  of  worldly  matters  and  direction,  300 

To  spend  with  thee:  we  must  obey  the  time. 

[Exeunt  Othello  and  Desdemona. 

Rod.  Iago, — 

Iago , What  say’st  thou,  noble  heart? 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


17 


Rod.  What  will  I do,  thinkest  thou? 

Iago.  Why,  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 

Rod.  I will  incontinently  drown  myself. 

Iago.  If  thou  dost,  I shall  never  love  thee  after.  Why, 
thou  silly  gentleman. 

Rod.  It  is  silliness  to  live  when  to  live  is  torment;  and 
then  have  we  a prescription  to  die  when  death  is  our  physi- 
cian. 311 

Iago.  O villanous!  I have  looked  upon  the  world  for 
four  times  seven  years;  and  since  I could  distinguish 
betwixt  a benefit  and  an  injury,  I never  found  man  that 
knew  how  to  love  himself.  Ere  I would  say,  I would 
drown  myself  for  the  love  of  a guinea-lien,  I would  change 
my  humanity  with  a baboon. 

Rod.  What  should  I do?  I confess  it  is  my  shame  to  be 
so  fond ; but  it  is  not  in  my  virtue  to  amend  it.  321 

Iago.  Virtue!  a fig!  5tis  in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  or 
thus.  Our  bodies  are  our  gardens,  to  the  which  our  wills 
are  gardeners;  so  that  if  we  will  plant  nettles,  or  sow  let- 
tuce, set  hyssop  and  weed  up  thyme,  supply  it  with  one 
gender  of  herbs,  or  distract  it  with  many,  either  to  have  it 
sterile  with  idleness,  or  manured  with  industry,  why,  the 
power  and  corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in  our  wills.  If 
the  balance  of  our  lives  had  not  one  scab  of  reason  to  poise 
another  of  sensuality,  the  blood  and  baseness  of  our  na- 
tures would  conduct  us  to  most  preposterous  conclusions: 
but  we  have  reason  to  cool  our  raging  motions,  our  carnal 
stings,  our  unbitted  lusts,  whereof  I take  this  that  you  call 
love  to  be  a sect  or  scion. 

Rod.  It  cannot  be. 

Iago.  It  is  merely  a lust  of  the  blood  and  a permission  of 
the  will.  Come,  be  a man.  Drown  thyself!  drown  cats 
and  blind  puppies.  I have  professed  me  thy  friend  and  I 
confess  me  knit  to  thy  deserving  with  cables  of  perdurable 
toughness;  I could  never  better  stead  thee  than  now.  Put 
money  in  thy  purse;  follow  thou  the  wars;  defeat  thy  fa- 
vour with  an  usurped  beard;  I say,  put  money  in  thy 
purse.  It  cannot  be  that  Desdemona  should  long  continue 
her  love  to  the  Moor, — put  money  in  thy  purse, — nor  he  his 
to  her:  it  was  a violent  commencement,  and  thou  shalt  see 
an  answerable  sequestration: — put  but  money  in  thy  purse. 
These  Moors  are  changeable  in  their  wills: — fill  thy  purse 
with  money: — the  food  that  to  him  now  is  as  luscious  as 
locusts,  shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as  coloquintida. 
She  must  change  for  youth:  when  she  is  sated  with  his 
body,  she  will  find  the  error  of  her  choice:  she  must  have 
change,  she  must : therefore  put  money  in  thy  purse.  If 
SHAK.  111,-15 


18 


OTHELLO. 


[act  I. 


thou  wilt  needs  damn  thyself,  do  it  a more  delicate  way 
than  drowning.  Make  all  the  money  thou  canst:  if  sanc- 
timony and  a frail  vow  betwixt  an  erring  barbarian  and  a 
supersubtie  Venetian  be  not  too  hard  for  my  wits  and  all 
the  tribe  of  hell,  thou  shalt  enjoy  her;  therefore  make 
money.  A pox  of  drowning  thyself!  it  is  clean  out  of  the 
way:  seek  thou  rather  to  be  hanged  in  compassing  thy  joy 
than  to  be  drowned  and  go  without  her. 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  be  fast  to  my  hopes,  if  I depend  on  the 
issue?  870 

Iago.  Thou  art  sure  of  me: — go,  make  money: — I have 
told  thee  often,  and  I re-tell  thee  again  and  again,  I hate 
the  Moor:  my  cause  is  hearted;  thine  hath  no  less  reason. 
Let  us  be  conjunctive  in  our  revenge  against  him;  if  thou 
canst  cuckold  him,  tliou  dost  thyself  a pleasure,  me  a 
sport.  There  are  many  events  in  the  womb  of  time  which 
will  be  delivered.  Traverse!  go,  provide  thy  money.  We 
will  have  more  of  this  to-morrow.  Adieu.  880 

Rod.  Where  shall  we  meet  i’  the  morning? 

Iago.  At  my  lodging. 

Rod.  I’ll  be  with  thee  betimes. 

Iago.  Go  to;  farewell.  Do  you  hear,  Roderigo? 

Rod.  What  say  you? 

Iago.  No  more  of  drowning,  do  you  hear? 

Rod.  I am  changed:  I’ll  go  sell  all  my  land.  [Exit. 

Iago.  Thus  do  1 ever  make  my  fool  my  purse: 

S For  I mine  own  gain’d  knowledge  should  profane, 

If  I would  time  expend  with  such  a snipe, 

But  for  my  sport  and  profit.  I hate  the  Moor; 

And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  ’twixt  my  sheets 
He  has  done  my  office:  I know  not  if’t  be  true; 

But  I,  for  mere  suspicion  in  that  kind, 

Will  do  as  if  for  surety.  He  holds  me  well; 

The  better  shall  my  purpose  work  on  him. 

Cassio’s  a proper  man:  let  me  see  now: 

To  get  his  place  and  to  plume  up  my  will 

In  double  knavery — How,  how? — Let’s  see: — 400 

After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello’s  ear 

That  he  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 

He  hath  a person  and  a smooth  dispose 

To  be  suspected,  framed  to  make  women  false. 

The  Moor  is  of  a free  and  open  nature, 

That  thinks  men  honest  that  but  seem  to  be  so, 

And  will  as  tenderly  be  led  by  the  nose 
As  asses  are. 

I have’t.  It  is  engender’d.  Hell  and  night 
Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world’s  light.  ^10 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


19 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.  A Sea-port  in  Cyprus.  An  open  place  near  the 
quay. 

Enter  Montano  and  to?  Gentlemen. 

Mon.  What  from  the  cape  can  you  discern  at  sea? 

First  Gent.  Nothing  at  all:  it  is  a high- wrought  flood; 

I cannot,  ’twixt  the  heaven  and  the  main, 

Descry  a sail. 

Mon.  Methinks  the  wind  hath  spoke  aloud  at  land; 

A fuller  blast  ne’er  shook  our  battlements: 

If  it  hath  rufflan’d  so  upon  the  sea, 

What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them, 

Can  hold  the  mortise?  What  shall  we  hear  of  this? 

Sec.  Gent.  A segregation  of  the  Turkish  fleet:  10 

For  do  but  stand  upon  the  foaming  shore, 

The  chidden  billow  seems  to  pelt  the  clouds; 

The  wind-shaked  surge,  with  high  and  monstrous  mane, 
Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  bear, 

And  quench  the  guards  of  the  ever-fix’d  pole: 

I never  did  like  molestation  view 
On  the  enchafed  flood. 

Mon.  If  that  the  Turkish  fleet 

Be  not  enshelter’d  and  embay’d,  they  are  drown’d; 

It  is  impossible  they  bear  it  out. 

Enter  a third  Gentleman. 

Third  Gent.  News,  lads!  our  wars  are  done.  20 

The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  bang’d  the  Turks, 

That  their  designment  halts:  a noble  ship  of  Venice 
Hath  seen  a grievous  wreck  and  sufferance 
On  most  part  of  their  fleet. 

Mon.  How!  is  this  true? 

Third  Gent.  The  ship  is  here  put  in, 

A Veronesa;  Michael  Cassio, 

Lieutenant  to  the  warlike  Moor  Othello, 

Is  come  on  shore:  the  Moor  himself  at  sea, 

And  is  in  full  commission  here  for  Cyprus. 

Mon.  I am  glad  on’t;  ’tis  a worthy  governor.  30 

Third  Gent.  But  this  same  Cassio,  though  he  speak  of 
comfort 

Touching  the  Turkish  loss,  yet  he  looks  sadly, 

And  prays  the  Moor  be  safe;  for  they  were  parted 
With  foul  and  violent  tempest. 

Mon . Pray  heavens  he  be ; 


go 


OTHELLO. 


[act  rt, 


For  I have  served  him,  and  the  man  commands 
Like  a full  soldier.  Let’s  to  the  seaside,  ho! 

As  well  to  see  the  vessel  that’s  come  in 
As  to^ throw  out  our  eyes  for  brave  Othello, 

Even  till  we  make  the  main  and  the  aerial  blue 
An  indistinct  regard. 

Third  Gent.  Come,  let’s  do  so:  40 

For  every  minute  is  expectancy 
Of  more  arrivance. 

Enter  Cassio. 

Cas.  Thanks,  you  the  valiant  of  this  warlike  isle, 

That  so  approve  the  Moor!  O,  let  the  heavens 
Give  him  defence  against  the  elements, 

For  I have  lost  him  on  a dangerous  sea. 

Mon.  Is  he  well  shipp’d? 

Cas.  His  bark  is  stoutly  timber’d,  and  his  pilot 
Of  very  expert  and  approved  allowance; 

Therefore  my  hopes,  not  surfeited  to  death,  50 

Stand  in  bold  cure. 

[A  cry  within  “ A sail,  a sail,  a sail!” 
Enter  a fourth  Gentleman. 

Cas.  What  noise? 

Fourth  Gent.  The  town  is  empty;  on  the  brow  o’  the  sea 
Stand  ranks  of  people,  and  they  cry  “A  sail!” 

Cas.  My  hopes  do  shape  him  for  the  governor. 

\Guns  heard. 

Sec.  Gent.  They  do  discharge  their  shot  of  courtesy: 

Our  friends  at  least. 

Cas.  I pray  you,  sir,  go  forth, 

And  give  us  truth  who  ’tis  that  is  arrived. 

Sec.  Gent.  I shall.  [Exit. 

Mon.  But,  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wived?  60 

Cas.  Most  fortunately:  he  hath  achieved  a maid 
That  paragons  description  and  wild  fame; 

One  that  excels  the  quirks  of  blazoning  pens, 

And  in  the  essential  vesture  of  creation 
Does  tire  the  ingener. 

Re-enter  second  Gentleman. 

How  nowM  who  has  put  in? 

Sec.  Gent.  ’Tis  one  lago,  ancient  to  the  general. 

Cas.  Has  had  most  favourable  and  happy  speed: 
Tempests  themselves,  high  seas  and  howling  winds, 

The  gutter’d  rocks  and  congregated  sands, — 

Traitors  ensteep’d  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel, — 70 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


21 


As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 
Their  mortal  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdemona. 

Mon.  What  is  she? 

Cas.  She  that  I spake  of,  our  great  captain’s  captain, 
Left  in  the  conduct  of  the  bold  Iago, 

Whose  footing  here  anticipates  our  thoughts 
A se’nnight’s  speed.  Great  Jove,  Othello  guard, 

And  swell  his  sail  with  thine  own  powerful  breath, 

That  he  may  bless  this  bay  with  his  tall  ship,  79 

Make  love’s  quick  pants  in  Desdemona’s  arms, 

Give  renew’d  fire  to  our  extincted  spirits, 

And  bring  all  Cyprus  comfort ! 

Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  Iago,  Koderigo,  and  Atteu. 
dants. 

O,  behold, 

The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore  1 
Ye  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees. 

Hail  to  thee,  lady!  and  the  grace  of  heaven. 

Before,  behind  thee  and  on  every  hand, 

Enwheel  thee  round ! 

Des.  I thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 

What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord? 

Cas.  He  is  not  yet  arrived:  nor  know  I aught 
But  that  he’s  well  and  will  be  shortly  here.  90 

Des.  O,  but  I fear — How  lost  you  company? 

Cas.  The  great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies 
Parted  our  fellowship — But,  hark!  a sail. 

[ Within  “A  sail,  a sail!”  Guns  heard. 
Sec.  Gent . They  give  their  greeting  to  the  citadel: 

This  likewise  is  a friend. 

Cas . See  for  the  news. 

[Exit  Gentleman. 

Good  ancient,  you  are  welcome.  [To  Emilia ] Welcome, 
mistress : 

Let  it  not  gall  your  patience,  good  Iago, 

That  I extend  my  manners;  ’tis  my  breeding 

That  gives  me  this  bold  show  of  courtesy.  100 

[Kissing  her. 

Iago.  Sir,  would  she  give  you  so  much  of  her  lips 
As  of  her  tongue  she  oft  bestows  on  me, 

You’ld  have  enough. 

Des.  Alas,  she  has  no  speech. 

Iago.  In  faith,  too  much ; 

I find  it  still,  when  I have  list  to  sleep: 

Marry,  before  your  ladyship,  I grant, 


OTHELLO. 


[act  it 


She  puts  her  tongue  a little  in  her  heart, 

And  chides  with  thinking. 

Emil.  You  have  little  cause  to  say  so. 

Iago.  Come  on,  come  on;  you  are  pictures  out  of  doors, 
Bells  in  your  parlours,  wild-cats  in  your  kitchens,  111 
Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  offended, 

Players  in  your  housewifery,  and  housewives  in  your  beds. 
Des.  O,  he  upon  thee,  slanderer! 

Iago.  Nay,  it  is  true,  or  else  I am  a Turk; 

You  rise  to  play  and  go  to  bed  to  work. 

Emil.  You  shall  not  write  my  praise. 

Iago.  No,  let  me  not. 

Des.  What  wouldst  thou  write  of  me,  if  thou  sliouldst 
praise  me? 

Iago.  O gentle  lady,  do  not  put  me  to’t; 

For  I am  nothing,  if  not  critical.  120 

Des.  Come  on,  assay.  There’s  one  gone  to  the  harbour? 
Iago.  Ay,  madam. 

Des.  I am  not  merry ; but  I do  beguile 
The  thing  lam,  by  seeming  otherwise. 

Come,  how  wouldst  thou  praise  me? 

Iago.  I am  about  it;  but  indeed  my  invention 
Comes  from  my  pate  as  birdlime  does  from  frize; 

It  plucks  out  brains  and  all:  but  my  Muse  labours, 

And  thus  she  is  deliver’d. 

If  she  be  fair  and  wise,  fairness  and  wit,  130 

The  one’s  for  use,  the  other  usetli  it. 

Des.  Well  praised!  How  if  she  be  black  and  witty? 
Iago.  If  she  be  black,  and  thereto  have  a wit, 

She’ll  find  a white  that  shall  her  blackness  fit. 

Des.  Worse  and  worse. 

Emil.  How  if  fair  and  foolish? 

Iago.  She  never  yet  was  foolish  that  was  fair; 

For  even  her  folly  helped  her  to  an  heir. 

Des.  These  are  old  fond  paradoxes  to  make  fools  laugh 
i’  the  alehouse.  What  miserable  praise  hast  thou  for  her 
that’s  foul  and  foolish?  141 

Iago.  There’s  none  so  foul  and  foolish  thereunto, 

But  does  foul  pranks  which  fair  and  wise  ones  do. 

Des.  O heavy  ignorance!  thou  praisest  the  worst  best. 
But  what  praise  couldst  thou  bestow  on  a deserving  woman 
indeed,  one  that,  in  the  authority  of  her  merit,  did  justly 
put  on  the  vouch  of  very  malice  itself? 

Iago.  She  that  was  ever  fair  and  never  proud, 

Had  tongue  at  will  and  yet  was  never  loud, 

Never  lack’d  gold  and  yet  went  never  gay, 

Fled  from  her  wish  and  yet  said  “ Now  I may,” 


150 


SCENE  1.] 


OTHELLO. 


23 


She  that  being  anger’d,  her  revenge  being  nigh, 

Bade  her  wrong  stay  and  her  displeasure  fly, 

She  that  in  wisdom  never  was  so  frail 
To  change  the  cod’s  head  for  the  salmon’s  tail. 

She  that  could  think  and  ne’er  disclose  her  mind, 

See  suitors  following  and  not  look  behind, 

She  was  a wight,  if  ever  such  wight  were, — 

JDes.  To  do  what?  160 

Iago.  To  suckle  fools  and  chronicle  small  beer. 

Des.  O most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion!  Do  not 
learn  of  him,  Emilia,  though  he  be  thy  husband.  How  say 
you,  Cassio?  is  he  not  a most  profane  and  liberal  counsel- 
lor? 

Cas.  He  speaks  home,  madam : you  may  relish  him  more 
in  the  soldier  than  in  the  scholar. 

Iago.  [Aside]  He  takes  her  by  the  palm:  ay,  vrell  said, 
whisper:  with  as  little  a web  as  "this  will  I ensnare  as  great 
a fly  as  Cassio.  Ay,  smile  upon  her,  do ; I will  gyve  thee  in 
thine  own  courtship.  You  say  true;  ’tis  so,  indeed:  if  such 
tricks  as  these  strip  you  out  of  your  lieutenantry,  it  had 
been  better  you  had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers  so 
oft,  which  now  again  you  are  most  apt  to  play  the  sir  in. 
Very  good;  well  kissed!  an  excellent  courtesy!  ’tis  so,  in- 
deed. Yet  again  your  fingers  to  your  lips?  would  they 
were  clyster-pipes  for  your  sake!  [ Trumpet  within.']  The 
Moor!  I know  his  trumpet.  180 

Cas.  ’Tis  truly  so. 

Des.  Let’s  meet  him  and  receive  him. 

Cas . Lo,  where  he  comes! 

Enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 

Otli.  O my  fair  warrior! 

Des.  My  dear  Othello! 

Oth.  It  gives  me  wonder  great  as  my  content 
To  see  you  here  before  me.  O my  soul’s  joy! 

If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 

May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  waken’d  death! 

And  let  the  labouring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas 
Olympus-higli  and  duck  again  as  low  190 

As  hell’s  from  heaven ! If  it  were  now  to  die, 

’Twere  now  to  be  most  happy;  for,  I fear, 

My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 

Des.  The  heavens  forbid 

But  that  our  loves  and  comforts  should  increase, 

Even  as  our  days  do  grow ! 


24 


OTHELLO. 


[ACT  II. 


Oth.  Amen  to  that,  sweet  powers’ 

I cannot  speak  enough  of  this  content; 

It  stops  me  here;  it  is  too  much  of  joy: 

And  this,  and  this,  the  greatest  discords  be  200 

[Kissing  her. 

That  e’er  our  hearts  shall  make! 

lago.  [Aside]  O,  you  are  well  tuned  now! 

But  I’ll  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music, 

As  honest  as  I am. 

Oth.  Come,  let  us  to  the  castle. 

News,  friends;  our  wars  are  done,  the  Turks  are  drown’d. 
How  does  my  old  acquaintance  of  this  isle? 

Honey,  you  shall  be  well  desired  in  Cyprus; 

I have  found  great  love  amongst  them.  O my  sweet, 

I prattle  out  of  fashion,  and  I dote 

In  mine  own  comforts.  I prithee,  good  lago, 

Go  to  the  bay  and  disembark  my  coffers:  210 

Bring  thou  the  master  to  the  citadel ; 

He  is  a good  one,  and  his  worthiness 

Does  challenge  much  respect.  Come,  Desdemona, 

Once  more,  well  met  at  Cyprus. 

[Exeunt  Othello , Desdemona , and  Attendants, 
lago.  Do  thou  meet  me  presently  at  the  harbour.  Come 
hither.  If  thou  be’st  valiant, — as,  they  say,  base  men  being 
in  love  have  then  a nobility  in  their  natures  more  than  is 
native  to  them, — list  me.  The  lieutenant  to-night  watches 
on  the  court  of  guard: — first,  I must  tell  thee  this — Desde- 
mona is  directly  in  love  with  him.  221 

Rod.  With  him!  why,  ’tis  not  possible. 

' lago.  Lay  thy  finger  thus,  and  let  thy  soul  be  instructed. 
Mark  me  with  what  violence  she  first  loved  the  Moor,  but 
for  bragging  and  telling  her  fantastical  lies:  and  will  she 
love  him  still  for  prating?  let  not  thy  discreet  heart  think 
it.  Her  eye  must  be  fed;  and  what  delight  shall  she  have 
to  look  on  the  devil?  When  the  blood  is  made  dull  with 
the  act  of  sport,  there  should  be,  again  to  inflame  it  and  to 
give  satiety  a fresh  appetite,  loveliness  in  favour,  sympathy 
in  years,  manners  and  beauties;  all  which  the  Moor  is 
defective  in:  now,  for  want  of  these  required  conveniences, 
her  delicate  tenderness  will  find  itself  abused,  begin  to  heave 
the  gorge,  disrelish  and  abhor  the  Moor;  very  nature  will 
instruct  her  in  it  and  compel  her  to  some  second  choice. 
Now,  sir,  this  granted, — as  it  is  a most  pregnant  and  un- 
forced position — who  stands  so  eminent  in  the  degree  of 
this  fortune  as  Cassio  does?  a knave  very  voluble;  no  fur- 
ther conscionable  than  in  putting  on  the  mere  form  of  civil 
and  humane  seeming,  for  the  better  compassing  of  his  salt 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


25 


and  most  hidden  loose  affection?  why,  none;  why,  none; 
a slipper  and  subtle  knave,  a finder  of  occasions,  that  has 
an  eye  can  stamp  and  counterfeit  advantages,  though  true 
advantage  never  present  itself;  a devilish  knave.  Besides, 
the  knave  is  handsome,  young,  and  hath  all  those  requisites 
in  him  that  folly  and  green  minds  look  after:  a pestilent 
complete  knave;  and  the  woman  hath  found  him  already. 

Rod.  I cannot  believe  that  in  her;  she’s  full  of  most 
blessed  condition. 

Iago.  Blessed  fig’s-end!  the  wine  she  drinks  is  made  of 
grapes:  if  she  had  been  blessed,  she  would  never  have 
loved  the  Moor.  Blessed  pudding!  Didst  thou  not  see 
her  paddle  with  the  palm  of  his  hand?  didst  not  mark 
that?  260 

Rod.  Yes,  that  I did;  but  that  was  but  courtesy. 

Iago.  Lechery,  by  this  hand;  an  index  and  obscure  pro- 
logue to  the  history  of  lust  and  foul  thoughts.  They  met 
so  near  with  their  lips  that  their  breaths  embraced  together. 
Villanous  thoughts,  Roderigo!  when  these  mutualities  so 
marshal  the  way,  hard  at  hand  comes  the  master  and  main 
exercise,  the  incorporate  conclusion,  Pish!  Buc,  sir,  be  you 
ruled  by  me:  I have  brought  you  from  Venice.  Watch 
you  to-night;  for  the  command,  I’ll  lay’t  upon  you.  Cassio 
knows  you  not.  I’ll  not  be  far  from  you:  do  you  find 
some  occasion  to  anger  Cassio,  either  by  speaking  too  loud, 
or  tainting  his  discipline;  or  from  what  other  course  you 
please,  which  the  time  shall  more  favourably  minister. 

Rod.  Well. 

Iago.  Sir,  he  is  rash  and  very  sudden  in  choler,  and 
haply  may  strike  at  you:  provoke  him,  that  he  may;  for 
even  out  of  that  will  I cause  these  of  Cyprus  to  mutiny; 
whose  qualification  shall  come  into  no  true  taste  again  but 
by  the  displ anting  of  Cassio.  So  shall  you  have  a shorter 
journey  to  your  desires  by  the  means  I shall  then  have  to 
prefer  them;  and  the  impediment  most  profitably  removed, 
without  the  which  there  were  no  expectation  of  our  pros- 
perity. 

Rod.  I will  do  this,  if  I can  bring  it  to  any  opportunity. 

Iago.  I warrant  thee.  Meet  me  by  and  by  at  the  citadel; 
I must  fetch  his  necessaries  ashore.  Farewell. 

Rod.  Adieu.  [Rxit. 

Iago.  That  Cassio  loves  her,  I do  well  believe  it; 

That  she  loves  him,  ’tis  apt  and  of  great  credit: 

The  Moor,  howbeit  that  I endure  him  not, 

Is  of  a constant,  loving,  noble  nature, 

And  I dare  think  he’ll  prove  to  Desdemona 
A most  dear  husband.  Now,  I do  love  her  too; 


30Q 


OTHELLO. 


[act  it 


Not  out  of  absolute  lust,  though  peradventure 
I stand  accountant  for  as  great  a sin, 

But  partly  led  to  diet  my  revenge, 

For  that  I do  suspect  the  lusty  Moor 

Hath  leap’d  into  my  seat;  the  thought  whereof 

Doth,  like  a poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards; 

And  nothing  can  or  shall  content  my  soul 
Till  I am  even’d  with  him,  wife  for  wife, 

Or  failing  so,  yet  that  I put  the  Moor 

At  least  into  a jealousy  so  strong  810 

That  judgement  cannot  cure.  Which  thing  to  do, 

If  this  poor  trash  of  Venice,  whom  I trash 
For  his  quick  hunting,  stand  the  putting  on, 

I’ll  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip, 

Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  rank  garb — 

For  I fear  Cassio  with  my  night-cap  too — 

Make  the  Moor  thank  me,  love  me  and  reward  me, 

For  making  him  egregiously  an  ass 

And  practising  upon  his  peace  and  quiet 

Even  to  madness.  ’Tis  here,  but  yet  confused:  820 

Knavery’s  plain  face  is  never  seen  till  used.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.  A street. 

Enter  a Herald  with  a proclama  tion ; People  following . 

Her.  It  is  Othello’s  pleasure,  our  noble  and  valiant  gen- 
eral, that,  upon  certain  tidings  now  arrived,  importing  the 
mere  perdition  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  every  man  put  him- 
self into  triumph;  some  to  dance,  some  to  make  bonfires, 
each  man  to  what  sport  and  revels  his  addiction  leads  him: 
for,  besides  these  beneficial  news,  it  is  the  celebration  of  his 
nuptial.  So  much  was  his  pleasure  should  be  proclaimed. 
All  offices  are  open,  and  there  is  full  liberty  of  feasting 
from  this  present  hour  of  five  till  the  bell  have  told  eleven. 
Heaven  bless  the  isle  of  Cyprus  and  our  noble  general 
Othello!  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.  A hall  in  the  castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Attendants. 

Oth.  Good  Michael,  look  you  to  the  guard  to-night: 

Let’s  teach  ourselves  that  honourable  stop, 

Not  to  outsport  discretion. 

Gas.  Iago  hath  direction  what  to  do; 

But,  notwithstanding,  with  my  personal  eye 
'Will  I look  to’t. 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


27 


Oth.  Iago  is  most  honest. 

Michael,  good  night:  to-morrow  with  your  earliest 
Let  me  have  speech  with  you.  [To  Desdemona]  Come,  my 
dear  love, 

The  purchase  made,  the  fruits  are  to  ensue; 

That  profit’s  yet  to  come  ’tween  me  and  you.  10 

Good  night. 

[Exeunt  Othello , Desdemona , and  Attendants. 

Enter  Iago. 

Gas.  Welcome,  Iago;  we  must  to  the  watch. 

Iago.  Not  this  hour,  lieutenant;  ’tis  not  yet  ten  o’  the 
clock.  Our  general  cast  us  thus  early  for  the  love  of  his 
Desdemona;  who  let  us  not  therefore  blame:  he  hath  not 
yet  made  wanton  the  night  with  her  ; and  she  is  sport  for 
Jove. 

Cas.  She’s  a most  exquisite  lady. 

Iago.  And,  I’ll  warrant  her,  full  of  game. 

Cas.  Indeed,  she’s  a most  fresh  and  delicate  creature.  20 

Iago.  What  an  eye  she  has!  methinks  it  sounds  a parley 
of  provocation. 

Gas.  An  inviting  eye;  and  yet  methinks  right  modest. 

Iago.  And  when  she  speaks,  is  it  not  an  alarum  to  love? 

Gas.  She  is  indeed  perfection. 

Iago.  Well,  happiness  to  their  sheets!  Come,  lieutenant, 
I have  a stoup  of  wine;  and  here  without  are  a brace  of 
Cyprus  gallants  that  would  fain  have  a measure  to  the 
health  of  black  Othello. 

Gas.  Not  to-night,  good  Iago:  I have  very  poor  and  un- 
happy brains  for  drinking:  I could  well  wish  courtesy 
would  invent  some  other  custom  of  entertainment. 

Iago.  O,  they  are  our  friends;  but  one  cup:  I’ll  drink  for 
you.  40 

Gas.  I have  drunk  but  one  cup  to-night,  and  that  was 
craftily  qualified  too,  and,  behold,  what  innovation  it 
makes  here:  I am  unfortunate  in  the  infirmity,  and  dare 
not  task  my  weakness  with  any  more. 

Iago.  What,  man!  ’tis  a night  of  revels:  the  gallants  de- 
sire it. 

Gas.  Where  are  they? 

Iago.  Here  at  the  door;  I pray  you,  call  them  in. 

Cas.  I’ll  do’t;  but  it  dislikes  me.  [Exit. 

Iago.  If  I can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him,  50 

With  that  which  he  hath  drunk  to-night  already, 

He’ll  be  as  full  of  quarrel  and  offence 

As  my  young  mistress’  dog.  Now,  my  sick  fool  Hoderigo, 

Whom  love  hath  turn’d  almost  the  wrong  side  out. 


28 


OTHELLO. 


[ACT  II. 


To  Desdemona  hath  to-night  caroused 
Potations  pottle-deep;  and  he’s  to  watch: 

Three  lads  of  Cyprus,  noble  swelling  spirits, 

That  hold  their  honours  in  a wary  distance, 

The  very  elements  of  this  warlike  isle, 

Have  I to-night  fluster’d  with  flowing  cups,  60 

And  they  watch  too.  Now,  ’mongst  this  flock  of  drunk- 
ards, 

Am  I to  put  our  Cassio  in  some  action 

That  may  offend  the  isle. — But  here  they  come: 

If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream, 

My  boat  sails  freely,  both  with  wind  and  stream. 

Re-enter  Cassio;  with  him  Montano  and  Gentlemen;  Ser- 
vants following  with  wine . 

Gas . ’Fore  God,  they  have  given  me  a rouse  already. 

Mon . Good  faith,  a little  one;  not  past  a pint,  as  I am  a 
soldier. 

Iago . Some  wine,  ho!  70 

[Sings']  And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink; 

And  let  me  the  canakin  clink: 

A soldier’s  a man  ; 

A life’s  but  a span; 

Why,  then,  let  a soldier  drink. 

Some  wine,  boys! 

Cas.  ’Fore  God,  an  excellent  song. 

Iago.  I learned  it  in  England,  where,  indeed,  they  are 
most  potent  in  potting:  your  Dane,  your  German,  and  your 
swag- bellied  Hollander — Drink,  ho! — are  nothing  to  your 
English.  81 

Gas.  Is  your  Englishman  so  expert  in  his  drinking? 
Iago.  Why,  he  drinks  you,  with  facility,  your  Dane  dead 
drunk;  he  sweats  not  to  overthrow  your  Almain;  he  gives 
your  Hollander  a vomit,  ere  the  next  pottle  can  be  filled. 
Gas.  To  the  health  of  our  general! 

Mon.  I am  for  it,  lieutenant;  and  I’ll  do  you  justice.  90 
Iago.  O sweet  England! 

King  Stephen  was  a worthy  peer, 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a crown; 

He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 

With  that  he  called  the  tailor  lown. 

He  was  a wight  of  high  renown, 

And  thou  art  but  of  low  degree: 

’Tis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down; 

Then  take  thine  auld  cloak  about  thee. 

Some  wine,  ho!  100 

Q as,  Why,  this  is  a more  exquisite  song  than  the  other, 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


:0 


lago.  Will  you  hear’t  again? 

Cas.  No;  for  I hold  him  to  be  unworthy  of  his  place  that 
does  those  things.  Well,  God’s  above  all;  and  there  be 
souls  must  be  saved,  and  there  be  souls  must  not  be 
saved. 

Iago.  It’s  true,  good  lieutenant. 

Gas.  For  mine  own  part, — no  offence  to  the  general,  nor 
any  man  of  quality, — I hope  to  be  saved.  Ill 

lago.  And  so  do  I too,  lieutenant. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  by  your  leave,  not  before  me;  the  lieuten- 
ant is  to  be  saved  before  the  ancient.  Let’s  have  no  more 
of  this;  let’s  to  our  affairs. — Forgive  us  our  sins! — Gentle- 
men, let’s  look  to  our  business.  Do  not  think,  gentlemen, 
I am  drunk:  this  is  my  ancient;  this  is  my  right  hand,  and 
this  is  my  left:  I am  not  drunk  now;  I can  stand  well 
enough,  and  speak  well  enough.  120 

All.  Excellent  well. 

Cas.  Why,  very  well  then;  you  must  not  think  then  that 
I am  drunk.  [Exit. 

Mon.  To  the  platform,  masters;  come,  let’s  set  the 
watch. 

lago.  You  see  this  fellow  that  is  gone  before; 

He  is  a soldier  fit  to  stand  by  Cnesar 

And  give  direction,  and  do  but  see  his  vice; 

’Tis  to  his  virtue  a just  equinox, 

The  one  as  long  as  the  other:  ’tis  pity  of  him.  130 

I fear  the  trust  Othello  puts  him  in, 

On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 

Will  shake  this  island. 

Mon.  But  is  he  often  thus? 

lago.  ’Tis  evermore  the  prologue  to  his  sleep: 

He’ll  watch  the  horologe  a double  set, 

If  drink  rock  not  his  cradle. 

Mon.  It  were  well 

The  general  were  put  in  mind  of  it. 

Perhaps  he  sees  it  not;  or  his  good  nature 
Prizes  the  virtue  that  appears  in  Cassio, 

And  looks  not  on  his  evils:  is  not  this  true?  140 

Enter  Roderigo. 

lago.  [Aside  to  him\  How  now,  Roderigo! 

I pray  you,  after  the  lieutenant;  go.  [Exit  Roderigo. 

Mon.  And  ’tis  great  pity  that  the  noble  Moor 
Should  hazard  such  a place  as  his  own  second 
With  one  of  an  ingraft  infirmity: 

It  were  an  honest  action  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor, 


30 


OTHELLO. 


\ACT  II. 


Iago.  Not  I,  for  this  fair  island : 

I do  love  Cassio  well ; and  would  do  much 
To  cure  him  of  this  evil — But,  hark!  what  noise? 

[Cry  within:  “Help!  help!” 

Re-enter  Cassio,  driving  in  Roderigo. 

Cas.  You  rogue!  you  rascal! 

Mon.  What’s  the  matter,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  A knave  teach  me  my  duty!  151 

I’ll  heat  the  knave  into  a twiggen  hottle. 

Rod.  Beat  me ! 

Cas.  Dost  thou  prate,  rogue?  [> Striking  Roderigo. 

Mon.  Nay,  good  lieutenant; 

{Staying  him. 

I pray  you,  sir,  hold  your  hand. 

Cas . Let  me  go,  sir, 

Or  I’ll  knock  you  o’er  the  mazzard. 

Mon.  Come,  come,  you’re  drunk. 

Cas.  Drunk!  {They fight. 

Iago.  {Aside  to  Roderigo']  Away,  I say;  go  out,  and  cry  a 
mutiny.  {Exit  Roderigo. 

Nay,  good  lieutenant, — alas,  gentlemen; — 

Help,  ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir,  — Montano, — sir ; — 160 

Help,  masters! — here’s  a goodly  watch  indeed!  {Bell  rings. 
Who’s  that  which  rings  the  bell? — Diablo,  ho! 

The  town  will  rise:  God’s  will,  lieutenant,  hold! 

You  will  be  shamed  forever. 

Re-enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 

Oth.  What  is  the  matter  here? 

Mon.  ’Zounds,  I bleed  still;  I am  hurt  to  the  death. 

{Faints. 

Oth.  Hold,  for  your  lives! 

Iago.  Hold,  ho!  Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — gentle- 
men,— 

Have  you  forgot  all  sense  of  place  and  duty? 

Hold!  the  general  speaks  to  you;  hold,  hold,  for  shame! 

Oth.  Why,  how  now,  ho!  from  whence  ariseth  this? 

Are  we  turn’d  Turks,  and  to  ourselves  do  that  170 

Which  heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites? 

For  Christian  shame,  put  by  this  barbarous  brawl: 

He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage 
Holds  his  soul  light;  he  dies  upon  his  motion. 

Silence  that  dreadful  bell : it  frights  the  isle  • 

From  her  propriety.  What  is  the  matter,  masters? 

Honest  Iago,  that  look’st  dead  with  grieving, 

Speak,  who  began  this?  on  thy  love,  I charge  thee, 


SCENE  III/] 


OTHELLO.  91 

Iago.  I do  not  know:  friends  all  but  now,  even  now, 

In  quarter,  and  in  terms  like  bride  and  groom  180 

Devesting  them  for  bed;  and  then,  but  now — 

As  if  some  planet  had  unwitted  men  — 

Swords  out,  and  tilting  one  at  other’s  breast, 

In  opposition  bloody.  I cannot  speak 
Any  beginning  to  this  peevish  odds; 

And  would  in  action  glorious  I had  lost 
Those  legs  that  brought  me  to  a part  of  it! 

Oth.  How  comes  it,  Michael,  you  are  thus  forgot? 

Gas.  I pray  you,  pardon  me;  I cannot  speak. 

Oth.  Worthy  Montano,  you  were  wont  be  civil;  190 
The  gravity  and  stillness  of  your  youth 
The  world  hath  noted,  and  your  name  is  great 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure:  what’s  the  matter, 

That  you  unlace  your  reputation  thus 
And  spend  your  rich  opinion  for  the  name 
Of  a night-brawler?  give  me  answer  to  it. 

Mon.  Worthy  Othello,  I am  hurt  to  danger: 

Your  officer,  Iago,  can  inform  you, — 

While  I spare  speech,  which  something  now  offends  me, — 
Of  all  that  I do  know  : nor  know  I aught  200 

By  me  that’s  said  or  done  amiss  this  night; 

Unless  self-charity  be  sometimes  a vice, 

And  to  defend  ourselves  it  be  a sin 
When  violence  assails  us. 

Oth.  Now,  by  heaven, 

My  blood  begins  my  safer  guides  to  rule; 

And  passion,  having  my  best  judgement  collied, 

Assays  to  lead  the  way:  if  I once  stir, 

Or  do  but  lift  this  arm,  the  best  of  you 

Shall  sink  in  my  rebuke.  Give  me  to  know 

How  this  foul  rout  began,  who  set  it  on;  210 

And  he  that  is  approved  in  this  offence, 

Though  he  had  twinn'd  with  me,  both  at  a birth, 

Shall  lose  me.  What!  in  a town  of  war, 

Yet  wild,  the  people’s  hearts  brimful  of  fear, 

To  manage  private  and  domestic  quarrel, 

In  night,  and  on  the  court  and  guard  of  safety  1 
’Tis  monstrous.  Iago,  who  began’t? 

Mon.  If  partially  affined,  or  leagued  in  office. 

Thou  dost  deliver  more  or  less  than  truth, 

Thou  art  no  soldier. 

^ Iago.  Touch  me  not  so  near:  220 

I had  rather  have  this  tongue  cut  from  my  mouth 
Than  it  should  do  offence  to  Michael  Cassio; 

Yet,  I persuade  myself,  to  speak  the  truth 


OTHELLO. 


[act  It 


Shall  nothing  wrong  him.  Thus  it  is,  general. 

Montano  and  myself  being  in  speech, 

There  comes  a fellow  crying  out  for  help: 

And  Cassio  following  him  with  determined  sword, 

To  execute  upon  him.  Sir,  this  gentleman 
Steps  in  to  Cassio,  and  entreats  his  pause: 

Myself  the  crying  fellow  did  pursue,  230 

Lest  by  his  clamour — as  it  so  fell  out — 

The  town  might  fall  in  fright:  he,  swift  of  foot. 

Outran  my  purpose;  and  I return’d  the  rather 
For  that  I heard  the  clink  and  fall  of  swords, 

And  Cassio  high  in  oath;  which  till  to-night 
I ne’er  might  say  before.  When  I came  back — 

For  this  was  brief — I found  them  close  together, 

At  blow  and  thrust;  even  as  again  they  were 
When  you  yourself  did  part  them. 

More  of  this  matter  cannot  I report:  240 

But  men  are  men;  the  best  sometimes  forget: 

Though  Cassio  did  some  little  wrong  to  him, 

As  men  in  rage  strike  those  that  wish  them  best. 

Yet  surely  Cassio,  I believe,  received 
From  him  that  fled  some  strange  indignity, 

Which  patience  could  not  pass. 

Oth.  I know,  Iago, 

Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter, 

Making  it  light  to  Cassio.  Cassio,  I love  thee; 

But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine. 

Re-enter  Desdemona,  attended. 

Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  raised  up!  250 

I’ll  make  thee  an  example. 

Res.  What’s  the  matter? 

Oth.  All’s  well  now,  sweeting;  come  away  to  bed. 

Sir,  for  your  hurts,  myself  will  be  your  surgeon: 

Lead  him  off.  [To  Montano , who  is  led  off. 

Iago,  look  with  care  about  the  town, 

And  silence  those  whom  this  vile  brawl  distracted. 

Come,  Desdemona:  ’tis  the  soldiers’  life 
To  have  their  balmy  slumbers  waked  with  strife. 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Iago  and  Cassio. 
Iago.  What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  Ay,  past  all  surgery.  260 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid ! 

Cas.  Deputation,  reputation,  reputation!  0,1  have  lost 
my  reputation ! I have  lost  the  immortal  part  of  myself, 
and  what  remains  is  bestial.  My  reputation,  Iago,  my 
reputation  1 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


33 


Iago.  As  I am  an  honest  man,  I thought  you  had  received 
some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more  sense  in  that  than  in 
reputation.  Reputation  is  an  idle  and  most  false  impo- 
sition: oft  got  without  merit,  and  lost  without  deserving: 
you  have  lost  no  reputation  at  all,  unless  you  repute  your^ 
self  such  a loser.  What,  man!  there  are  ways  to  recover 
the  general  again:  you  are  but  nowcast  in  his  mood,  a 
punishment  more  in  policy  than  in  malice;  even  so  as  one 
would  beat  his  offenceless  dog  to  affright  an  imperious 
lion:  sue  to  him  again,  and  he’s  yours. 

Gas.  I will  rather  sue  to  be  despised  than  to  deceive  so 
good  a commander  with  so  slight,  so  drunken,  and  so  in- 
discreet an  officer.  Drunk?  and  speak  parrot?  and  squab- 
ble? swagger?  swear?  and  discourse  fustian  with  one’s 
own  shadow?  fTT thou  invisible  spirit  of  wdne,  if  thou  hast 
no  name  to  be  Known  by,  let  us  call  thee  devff3 

Iago.  What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your  sword? 
What  had  he  done  to  you? 

Cas.  I know  not. 

Iago.  Is’t  possible? 

Has.  I remember  a mass  of  things,  but  nothing  distinctly; 
a quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefore.  ;0  God,  that  men  should 
put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their  brains! 
that  we  should,  with  joy,  pleasance,  revel  and  applause, 
transform  ourselves  into  beajfj|! 

Iago.  Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough:  how  came 
you  thus  recovered  ? 

Gas.  It  hath  pleased  the  devil  drunkenness  to  give  place 
to  the  devil  wrath:  one  unperfectness  shows  me  another, 
to  make  me  frankly  despise  myself.  800 

Iago.  Come,  you  are  too  severe  a moraler:  as  the  time, 
the  place,  and  the  condition  of  this  country  stands,  I could 
heartily  wish  this  had  not  befallen;  but,  since  it  is  as  it  is, 
mend  it  for  your  own  good. 

Gas.  I will  ask  him  for  my  place  again;  he  shall  tell  me 
I am  a drunkard!  Had  I as  many  mouths  as  Hydra,  such 
.an  answer  would  stop  them  all.  To  be  now  a sensible  man, 
by  and  by  a fool,  and  presently  a beast ! O strange ! Every 
inordinate  cup  is  unblessed  and  the  ingredient  is  a devil. 

Iago.  Come,  come,  good  wine  is  a good  familiar  crea- 
ture, if  it  be  well  used : exclaim  no  more  against  it.  And, 
good  lieutenant,  I think  you  think  I love  you. 

Gas.  I have  well  approved  it,  sir.  I drunk! 

Iago.  You  or  any  man  living  may  be  drunk  at  a time, 
man.  I’ll  tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  Our  general’s  wife 
is  now  the  general:  I may  say  so  in  this  respect,  for  that 
he  hath  devoted  and  given  up  himself  to  the  contemplation, 


OTHELLO. 


[act  It. 


8i 

mark,  and  denotement  of  her  parts  and  graces  : confess 
yourself  freely  to  her;  importune  her  help  to  put  you  in 
your  place  again:,  she  is  of  so  free,  so  kind,  so  apt,  so 
blessed  a disposition,  she  holds  it  a vice  in  her  goodness 
not  to  do  more  than  she  is  requested:  this  broken  joint 
between  you  and  her  husband  entreat  her  to  splinter;  and, 
my  fortunes  against  any  lay  worth  naming,  this  crack  of 
your  love  shall  grow  stronger  than  it  was  before.  331 

Cas.  You  advise  me  well. 

logo,  I protest,  in  the  sincerity  of  love  and  honest  kind- 
ness. 

Cas.  I think  it  freely;  and  betimes  in  the  morning  I will 
beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  undertake  for  me:  I 
am  desperate  of  my  fortunes  if  they  check  me  here. 

Iago.  You  are  in  the  right.  Good  night,  lieutenant;  I 
must  to  the  watch.  340 

Cas.  Good  night,  honest  Iago.  [Exit. 

Iago.  And  what’s  he  then  that  says  I play  the  villain? 
"When  this  advice  is  free  I give  and  honest, 

Probal  to  thinking  and  indeed  the  course 

To  win  the  Moor  again?  For  ’tis  most  easy 

The  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 

In  any  honest  suit:  she’s  framed  as  fruitful 

As  the  free  elements.  And  then  for  her 

To  win  the  Moor — were’t  to  renouuce  his  baptism, 

All  seals  and  symbols  of  redeemed  sin,  350 

His  soul  is  so  enfetter’d  to  her  love, 

That  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list, 

Even  as  her  appetite  shall  play  the  god 

With  his  weak  function.  How  am  I then  a villain 

To  counsel  Cassio  to  this  parallel  course, 

Directly  to  his  good?  Divinity  of  hell! 

When  devils  will  the  blackest  sins  put  on, 

They  do  suggest  at  first  with  heavenly  shows, 

As  I do  now:  for  whiles  this  honest  fool 

Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  his  fortunes  360 

And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 

I’ll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, 

That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body’s  lust; 

And  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  good, 

She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 

So  will  I turn  her  virtue  into  pitch, 

And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. 

Be-enter  Roderigo. 

How  now,  Roderigo! 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


35 


Bod.  I do  follow  here  in  the  chase,  not  like  a hound 
that  hunts,  but  one  that  tills  up  the  cry.  My  money  is 
almost  spent;  I have  been  to-night  exceedingly  well  cud- 
gelled; and  I think  the  issue  will  be,  I shall  have  so  much 
experience  for  my  pains,  and  so,  with  no  money  at  all  and 
a little  more  wit,  return  again  to  Venice. 

Iago.  How  poor  are  tlie}^  that  have  not  patience! 

What  wound  did  ever  heal  but  by  degrees? 

Thou  knowst  we  work  by  wit,  and  not  by  witchcraft; 

And  wit  depends  on  dilatory  time. 

Does’t  not  go  well?  Cassio  hath  beaten  thee,  380 

And  thou,  by  that  small  hurt,  hast  cashier’d  Cassio: 
Though  other  things  grow  fair  against  the  sun, 

Yet  fruits  that  blossom  first  will  first  be  ripe: 

Content  thyself  awhile.  By  the  mass,  ’tis  morning; 
Pleasure  and  action  make  the  hours  seem  short. 

Retire  thee;  go  where  thou  art  billeted: 

Away,  I say;  thou  shalt  know  more  hereafter: 

Nay,  get  thee  gone.  [. Exit  Boderigo.~\  Two  things  are  to 
be  done: 

My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress; 

I’ll  set  her  on ; 390 

Myself  the  while  to  draw  the  Moor  apart, 

And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife:  ay,  that’s  the  way: 

Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay.  [Exit 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.  Before  the  castle. 
Enter  Cassio  and  some  Musicians. 


* Vas.  Masters,  play  here;  I will  content  your  pains; 
l mething  that’s  brief;  and  bid  “ Good  morrow,  general.” 

[Music, 

Enter  Clown. 


Clo.  Why,  masters,  have  your  instruments  been  in  Naples, 
that  they  speak  i’  the  nose  thus? 

Mrst  Mas.  How,  sir,  how? 

Clo.  Are  these,  I pray  you,  wind-instruments? 

First  Mas.  Ay,  marry,  are  they,  sir. 

Clo.  O,  thereby  hangs  a tail. 

First  Mus.  Whereby  hangs  a tail,  sir?  9 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  by  many  a wind-instrument  that  I know. 
But,  masters,  here’s  money  for  you:  and  the  general  so 


OTHELLO. 


36 


[act  ih. 


likes  your  music,  that  he  desires  you,  for  love’s  sake,  to 
make  no  more  noise  with  it. 

First  Mus.  Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 

Clo.  If  you  have  any  music  that  may  not  be  heard,  to’t 
again:  but,  as  they  say,  to  hear  music  the  general  does  not 
greatly  care. 

First  Mus.  We  have  none  such,  sir. 

Clo.  Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  I’ll  away: 
go:  vanish  into  air;  away!  [Exeunt  Musicians.  21 

Cas.  Dost  thou  hear,  my  honest  friend? 

Clo.  No,  I hear  not  your  honest  friend;  I hear  you. 

Cas.  Prithee,  keep  up  thy  quillets.  There’s  a poor  piece 
of  gold  for  thee:  if  the  gentlewoman  that  attends  the  gen- 
eral’s wife  be  stirring,  tell  her  there’s  one  Cassio  entreats 
her  a little  favour  of  speech:  wilt  thou  do  this? 

Clo.  She  is  stirring,  sir:  if  she  will  stir  hither,  I shall 
seem  to  notify  unto  her.  31 

Cas.  Do,  good  my  friend.  [Exit  Clown . 

Enter  Iago. 

In  happy  time,  Iago. 

Iago.  You  have  not  been  a-bed,  then? 

Cas.  Why,  no : the  day  had  broke 
Before  we  parted.  I have  made  bold,  Iago, 

To  send  in  to  your  wife : my  suit  to  her 
Is,  that  she  will  to  virtuous  Desdemona 
Procure  me  some  access. 

Iago.  I’ll  send  her  to  you  presently; 

And  I’ll  devise  a mean  to  draw  the  Moor 

Out  of  the  way,  that  your  converse  and  business 

May  be  more  free.  41 

Cas.  I humbly  thank  you  for’t.  [Exit  Iago.']  I never  knew 
A Florentine  more  kind  and  honest 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emil.  Good  morrow,  good  lieutenant : I am  sorry 
For  your  displeasure ; but  all  will  sure  be  well. 

The  general  and  his  wife  are  talking  of  it; 

And  she  speaks  for  you  stoutly;  the  Moor  replies, 

That  he  you  hurt  is  of  great  fame  in  Cyprus 
And  great  affinity  and  that  in  wholesome  wisdom 
He  might  not  but  refuse  you,  but  he  protests  he  loves  you 
And  needs  no  other  suitor  but  his  likings  51 

To  take  the  safest  occasion  by  the  front 
To  bring  you  in  again. 

Cas.  Yet,  I beseech  you, 

If  you  think  fit,  or  that  it  may  be  done, 


SCENE  in.] 


OTHELLO. 


37 


Give  me  advantage  of  some  brief  discourse 
With  Desdemona  alone. 

Emil.  Pray  you,  come  in; 

I will  bestow  you  where  you  shall  have  time 
To  speak  your  bosom  freely. 

(jas.  I am  much  bound  to  you.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  A room  in  the  castle. 


Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Gentlemen. 


Oth.  These  letters  give,  Iago,  to  the  pilot; 
And  by  him  do  my  duties  to  the  senate : 
That  done,  I will  be  walking  on  the  works; 


Repair  there  to  me. 

Iago.  Well,  my  good  lord,  1 11  do  t. 

Oth.  This  fortification,  gentlemen,  shall  we  see’t? 

Gent.  We’ll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  III.  The  garden  of  the  castle . 

/ Enter  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Emilia. 

Des.  Be  thou  assured,  good  Cassio,  I will  do 
All  my  abilities  in  thy  behalf. 

Emil.  Good  madam,  do:  I warrant  it  grieves  my  hus- 
band, 

As  if  the  case  were  his.  , . 

Des.  O,  that’s  an  honest  fellow.  Do  not  doubt,  Cassio, 
But  I will  have  my  lord  and  you  again 
As  friendly  as  you  were. 

Gas.  Bounteous  madam, 

Whatever  shall  become  of  Michael  Cassio, 

He’s  never  any  thing  but  your  true  servant. 

Des.  I know’t;  I thank  you.  You  do  love  my  lord:  10 
You  have  known  him  long;  and  be  you  well  assured 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  further  off 
Than  in  a politic  distance. 

, Gas.  Ay,  but,  lady, 

That  policy  may  either  last  so  long, 

Or  feed  upon  such  nice  and  waterish  diet, 

Or  breed  itself  so  out  of  circumstance, 

That,  I being  absent  and  my  place  supplied, 

My  general  will  forget  my  love  and  service. 

Des.  Do  not  doubt  that;  before  Emilia  here 
I give  thee  warrant  of  thy  place : assure  thee,  20 

If  I do  vow  a friendship,  I’ll  perform  if 


38 


OTHELLO. 


[ACT  lit. 


To  the  last  article : my  lord  shall  never  rest ; 

I’ll  watch  him  tame  and  talk  him  out  of  patience; 

His  bed  shall  seem  a school,  his  board  a shrift; 

I’ll  intermingle  every  thing  he  does 

With  Cassio’s  suit:  therefore  be  merry,  Cassio: 

For  thy  solicitor  shall  rather  die 
Than  give  thy  cause  away. 

Emil.  Madam,  here  comes  my  lord. 

Cas.  Madam,  I’ll  take  my  leave.  30 

Des.  Why,  stay,  and  hear  me  speak. 

Cas.  Madam,  not  now:  I am  very  ill  at  ease, 

TJntit  for  mine  own  purposes. 

Des.  Well,  do  your  discretion.  [Exit  Cassio. 

Enter  Othello  and  Iago. 


Iago.  Ha ! I like  not  that. 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  say? 

Iago.  Nothing,  my  lord:  or  if — I know  not  what. 

Oth.  Was  not  that  Cassio  parted  from  my  wife? 

Iago.  Cassio,  my  lord!  No,  sure,  I cannot  think  it. 
That  he  would  steal  away  so  guilty-like, 

Seeing  you  coming. 

Oth  . I do  believe  ’twas  he.  40 

Des.  How  now,  my  lord! 

I have  been  talking  with  a suitor  here, 

A man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 

Oth.  Who  is’t  you  mean? 

Des.  Why,  your  lieutenant,  Cassio.  Good  my  lord, 

If  I have  any  grace  or  power  to  move  you, 

His  present  reconciliation  take; 

For  if  he  be  not  one  that  truly  loves  you, 

That  errs  in  ignorance  and  not  in  cunning, 

I have  no  judgement  in  an  honest  face:  50 

I prithee,  call  him  back. 


Oth.  Went  he  hence  now? 

Des.  Ay,  sooth : so  humbled 
That  he  hath  left  part  of  his  grief  with  me, 

To  suffer  with  him.  Good  love,  call  him  back. 

Oth.  Not  now,  sweet  Desdemona;  some  other  time. 

Des.  But  shall’t  be  shortly? 

Oth.  The  sooner,  sweet,  for  you. 

Des.  Shall’t  be  to-night  at  supper? 

Oth.  No,  not  to-night. 

Des.  To-morrow  dinner,  then? 

Oth.  I shall  not  dine  at  home ; 

I meet  the  captains  at  the  citadel. 

Des,  Why,  tlien?  to-morrow  night;  or  Tuesday  morn;  60 


SCENE  m.] 


OTHELLO. 


Id' 

On  Tuesday  noon,  or  night;  on  Wednesday  morn: 

I prithee,  name  the  time,  but  let  it  not 
Exceed  three  days:  in  faith,  he’s  penitent; 

And  yet  his  trespass,  in  our  common  reason — 

Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars  must  make  examples 
Out  of  their  best — is  not  almost  a fault 
To  incur  a private  check.  When  shall  he  come? 

Tell  me,  Othello : I wonder  in  my  soul, 

What  you  would  ask  me,  that  I should  deny, 

Or  stand  so  mammering  on.  What!  Michael  Cassio,  70 
That  came  a-wooing  with  you,  and  so  many  a time, 

When  I have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 

Hath  ta’en  your  part ; to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  bring  him  in!  Trust  me,  I could  do  much, — 

Oth.  Prithee,  no  more:  let  him  comew’hen  he  will; 

I will  deny  thee  nothing. 

Des.  Why,  this  is  not  a boon ; 

’Tis  as  I should  entreat  you  wear  your  gloves, 

Or  feed  on  nourishing  dishes,  or  keep  you  warm, 

Or  sue  to  you  to  do  a peculiar  profit 

To  your  oVn  person *.  nay,  when  I have  a suit  80 

Wherein  I mean  to  touch  your  love  indeed, 

It  shall  be  full  of  poise  and  difficult  weight 
And  fearful  to  be  granted. 

Oth.  I will  deny  thee  nothing: 

Whereon,  I do  beseech  thee,  grant  me  t*'*' 

To  leave  me  but  a little  to  myself. 

Des.  Shall  I deny  you?  no:  farewell,  my  lord. 

Oth.  Farewell,  myDesdemona:  I’ll  come  to  thee  straight. 
Des.  Emilia,  come.  Be  as  your  fancies  teach  you; 
Whate’er  you  be,  I am  obedient. 

[Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 
Oth . Excellent  wretch ! Perdition  catch  my  soul,  90 
But  I do  love  thee!  and  when  I love  thee  not, 

Chaos  is  come  again. 

Iago.  My  noble  lord, — 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  say,  Iago? 

Iago.  Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo’d  my  lady, 
Know  of  your  love  ? 

Oth.  He  did,  from  first  to  last:  why  dost  thou  ask? 

Iago.  But  for  a satisfaction  of  my  thought,  Iago? 

No  further  harm. 

Oth.  Why  of  thy  thought,  Iago? 

Iago.  I did  not  think  lie  had  been  acquainted  with  her. 
Oth.  O,  yes;  and  went  between  us  very  oft.  100 

Iago.  Indeed! 


40  OTHELLO.  [act  hi. 

Oth.  Indeed!  ay,  indeed:  discern’st  thou  aught  in  that? 
Is  he  not  honest? 

Iago.  Honest,  my  lord! 

Oth.  Honest!  ay,  honest! 

Iago.  My. lord,  for  aught  I know. 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  think? 

Iago.  Think,  my  lord! 

Oth.  Think,  my  lord! 

By  heaven,  he  echoes  me. 

As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 

Too  hideous  to  be  shown.  Thou  dost  mean  something: 

I heard  thee  say  even  now,  thou  likedst  not  that, 

When  Cassio  left  my  wife:  what  didst  not  like?  110 

And  when  I told  thee  he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst  “ Indeed !” 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 

As  if  thou  then  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit  : if  thou  dost  loveTne, 

Show  me  thy  thought. 

Iago.  My  lord,  you  know  I love  you. 

Oth.  I think  thou  dost ; 

And,  for  I know  thou’rt  full  of  love  and  honesty, 

And  weigh’st  thy  words  before  thougivest  them  breath, 
Therefore  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more:  120 

For  such  things  in  a false  disloyal  knave 
Are  tricks  of  cxingm,  but  in  a man  that’s  just 
They  are  closaguiations,  working  from  the  heart 
That  passion  cannot  rule. 

Iago.  For  Michael  Cassio, 

I dare  be  sworn  I think  that  he  is  honest. 

Oth.  I think  so  too. 

Iago.  Men  should  be  what  th£y  seem ; 

Or  those  that  be  not,  would  they  might  seem  none! 

Oth.  Certain,  men  should  be  what  they  seem. 

Iago.  Why,  then,  I think  Cassio’s  an  honest  man. 

Oth.  Nay,  yet  there’s  more  in  this:  130 

I prithee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings, 

As  thou  dost  ruminate,  and  give  thy  worst  of  thoughts 
The  worst  of  words. 

Iago.  Good  my  lord,  pardon  me: 

Though  I am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 

I am  not  bound  to  that  all  slaves  are  free  to. 

Utter  my  thoughts?  Why,  say  they  are  vile  and  false; 

As  where’s  that  palace  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not?  who  has  a breast  so  pure, 

But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 

Keep  leets  and  law-days  and  in  session  sit  140 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


41 


With  meditations  lawful? 

Oth . Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  Iago, 

If  thou  but  think’st  him  wrong’d  and  makest  his  ear 
A stranger  to  thy  thoughts. 

Iago.  I do  beseech  you — 

Though  I perchance  am  vicious  in  my  guess, 

As,  I confess,  it  is  my  nature’s  plague 

To  spy  into  abuses,  and  oft  my  jealousy 

Shapes  faults  that  are  not — that  your  wisdom  yet, 

From  one  that  so  imperfectly  conceits, 

Would  take  no  notice,  nor  build  yourself  a trouble  150 
Out  of  his  scattering  and  unsure  observance. 

It  were  not  for  your  quiet  nor  your  good, 

Nor  for  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  wisdom, 

To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  mean? 

Iago.  Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls: 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash;  ’ tis  something,  nothing; 
’Twas  mine,  ’tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands; 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 

Bobs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him  160 

And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I’ll  know  thy  thoughts. 

Iago.  You  cannot,  if  my  heart  were  in  your  hand; 

Nor  shall  not,  whilst  ’tis  in  my  custody. 

Oth.  Ha! 

Iago.  O,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy; 

It  is  the  green-eyed  monster  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  feeds  on;  that  cuckold  lives  in  bliss 
Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger; 

But,  O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o’er 
Who  dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves!  170 
Oth.  O misery! 

Iago.  Poor  and  content  is  rich  and  rich  enough, 

But  riches  fineless  is  as  poor  as  winter 
To  him  that  ever  fears  he  shall  be  poor. 

Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy! 

Oth.  Why,  why  is  this? 

Think’st  thou  I’ll  make  a life  of  jealousy; 

To  follow  still  the  changes  of  the  moon 

With  fresh  suspicions?  No;  to  be  once  in  doubt 

Is  once  to  be  resolved  exchange  me  for  a goat,  180 

When  I shall  turn  the  business  of  my  soul 

To  such  exsufflicate  and  blown  surmises, 

Matchingjhy  inference,  Tis  not  to  make  me  jealous 


42 


OTHELLO. 


[act  III. 

To  say  my  wife  is  fair,  feeds  well,  loves  company, 

Is  free  of  speech,  sings,  plays  and  dances  well; 

Where  virtue  is,  these  are  more  virtuous: 

Nor  from  mine  own  weak  merits  will  I draw 
The  smallest  fear  or  doubt  of  her  revolt; 

For  she  had  eyes,  and  chose  me.  No,  Iago; 

I’ll  see  before  I doubt;  when  I doubt,  prove;  190 

And  on  the  proof,  there  is  no  more  but  this, — 

Away  at  ouce  with  love  or  jealousy! 

Iago.  I am  glad  of  it;  for  now  I shall  have  reason 
To  show  the  love  and  duty  that  I bear  you 
With  franker  spirit:  therefore,  as  I am  bound. 

Receive  it  from  me.  I speak  not  yet  of  proof. 

Look  to  your  wife;  observe  her  well  with  Cassio; 

Wear  your  eye  thus,  not  jealous  nor  secure: 

I would  not  have  your  free  and  noble  nature, 

Out  of  self-bounty,  be  abused;  look  to’t:  200 

I know  our  country  disposition  well; 

In  Venice  they  do  let  heaven  see  the  pranks 

They  dare  not  show  tlier  husbands;  their  best  conscience 

Is  not  to  leave’t  undone,  but  keep’t  unknown. 

Oth.  Dost  thou  say  so? 

Iago.  She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you; 

And  when  she  seem’d  to  shake  and  fear  your  looks, 

She  loved  them  most. 

Oth.  And  so  she  did. 

Iago.  Why,  go  to  then; 

She  that,  so  young,  could  give  out  such  a seeming, 

To  seel  her  father’s  eyes  up  close  as  oak — 210 

He  thought  ’twas  witchcraft — but  I am  much  to  blame; 

I humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardon 
For  too  much  loving  you. 

Oth.  I am  bound  to  thee  for  ever. 

Iago.  I see  this  hath  a little  dash’d  your  spirits. 

Oth.  Not  a jot,  not  a jot. 

Iago.  I’  faith,  I fear  it  has. 

I hope  you  will  consider  what  is  spoke 

Comes  from  my  love.  But  I do  see  you’re  moved: 

I am  to  pray  you  not  to  strain  my  speech 
To  grosser  issues  nor  to  larger  reach 

Than  to  suspicion.  ' 220 

Oth.  I will  not. 

Iago.  Should  you  do  so,  my  lord, 

My  speech  should  fall  into  such  vile  success 

As  my  thoughts  aim  not  at.  Cassio’s  my  worthy  friend — • 

My  lord,  I see  you’re  moved, 


SCENE  m.] 


OTHELLO. 


43 

Oth.  No,  not  much  moved: 

I do  not  think  hut  Desdemona’s  honest. 

Iago.  Long  live  she  so ! and  long  live  you  to  think  so  1 
Oth.  And  yet,  how  nature  erring  from  itself, — 

Iago.  Ay,  there’s  the  point:  as — to  be  bold  with  you — 
Not  to  affect  many  proposed  matches 
Of  her  own  clime,  complexion,  and  degree,  230 

Whereto  we  see  in  all  things  nature  tends— 

Foh!  one  may  smell  in  such  a will  most  rank. 

Foul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural. 

But  pardon  me ; I do  not  in  position 
Distinctly  speak  of  her ; though  I may  fear 
Her  will,  recoiling  to  her  better  judgement. 

May  fall  to  match  you  with  her  country  forms 
And  happily  repent. 

Oth.  Farewell,  farewell : 

If  more  thou  dost  perceive,  let  me  know  more: 

Set  on  thy  wife  to  observe : leave  me,  Iago.  240 

Iago.  [Going]  My  lord,  I take  my  leave. 

Oth.  Why  did  I marry?  This  honest  creature  doubtless 
Sees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  he  unfolds. 

Iago.  [Returning]  My  lord,  I would  I might  entreat  your 
honour 

To  scan  this  thing  no  further ; leave  it  to  time : 

Though  it  be  fit  that  Cassio  have  his  place, 

For,  sure,  he  fills  it  up  with  great  ability, 

Yet,  if  you  please  to  hold  him  off  awhile, 

You  shall  by  that  perceive  him  and  his  means: 

Note,  if  your  lady  strain  his  entertainment 
With  any  strong  or  vehement  importunity; 

Much  will  be  seen  in  that.  In  the  mean  time. 

Let  me  be  thought  too  busy  in  my  fears — 

As  worthy  cause  I have  to  fear  I am — 

And  hold  her  free,  I do  beseech  your  honour* 

Oth.  Fear  not  my  government. 

Iago.  I once  more  take  my  leave. 

Oth.  This  fellow’s  of  exceeding  honesty, 

And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a learned  spirit, 

Of  human  dealings.  If  I do  prove  her  haggard, 

Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart-strings, 

Fid  whistle  her  off  and  let  her  down  the  wind. 

To  prey  at  fortune.  Haply,  for  I am  black 
And  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
That  chamberers  have,  or  for  I am  declined 
Into  the  vale  of  years, — yet  that’s  not  much— 

She’s  gone.  I am  abused ; and  my  relief 
Must  be  to  loathe  her.  0 curse  of  marriage, 


250 

[Exit. 

360 


44 


OTHELLO. 


[act  hi. 


That  we  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours, 

And  not  their  appetites!  I had  rather  he  a toad,  270 

And  live  upon  the  vapour  of  a dungeon, 

Than  keep  a corner  in  the  thing  I love 

For  others’  uses.  Yet,  ’tis  the  plague  of  great  ones 

Prerogatived  are  they  less  than  the  base; 

’Tis  destiny  unshunnable,  like  death: 

Even  then  this  forked  plague  is  fated  to  us 
When  we  do  quicken.  Desdemona  comes: 

Re-enter  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

If  she  be  false,  O,  then  heaven  mocks  itself! 

I’ll  not  believe’t. 

Res.  How  now,  my  dear  Othello ! 

Your  dinner,  and  the  generous  islanders  280 

By  you  invited,  do  attend  your  presence. 

Oth.  I am  to  blame ! 

Res.  Why  do  you  speak  so  faintly? 

Are  you  not  well  ? 

Oth.  I have  a pain  upon  my  forehead  here. 

Res.  ’Faith,  that’s  with  watching;  ’twill  away  again: 

Let  me  but  bind  it  hard,  within  this  hour 
It  will  be  well. 

Oth.  Your  napkin  is  too  little: 

[ He  puts  the  handkerchief  from  him;  and  it  drops. 
Let  it  alone.  Come,  I’ll  go  in  with  you. 

Res . I am  very  sorry  that  you  are  not  well. 

[ Exeunt  Othello  and  Resdemona. 
Emil.  I am  glad  I have  found  this  napkin:  290 

This  was  her  first  remembrance  from  the  Moor: 

My  wayward  husband  hath  a hundred  times 
Woo’d  me  to  steal  it;  but  she  so  loves  the  token, 

For  he  conjured  her  she  should  ever  keep  it, 

That  she  reserves  it  evermore  about  her 

To  kiss  and  talk  to.  I’ll  have  the  work  ta’en  out, 

And  give’t  Iago:  what  he  will  do  with  it 
Heaven  knows,  not  I; 

I nothing  but  to  please  his  fantasy. 

Re-enter  Iago. 

Iago.  How  now!  what  do  you  here  alone?  300 

Emil.  Do  not  you  chide;  I have  a thing  for  you. 

Iago.  A thing  for  me?  it  is  a common  thing — 

Emil.  Ha! 

Iago.  To  have  a foolish  wife. 

Emil.  O,  is  that  all?  What  will  you  give  me  now 
For  that  same  handkerchief? 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


45 


Iago.  What  handkerchief? 

Emil.  What  handkerchief ! 

Why,  that  the  Moor  first  gave  to  Desdemona; 

That  which  so  often  you  did  bid  me  steal. 

Iago . Hast  stol’n  it  from  her?  310 

Emil.  No,  ’faith;  she  let  it  drop  by  negligence, 

And,  to  the  advantage,  I,  being  here,  took’t  up. 

Look,  here  it  is. 

Iago . A good  wench;  give  it  me. 

Emil.  What  will  you  do  with’t,  that  you  have  been  so 
earnest 

To  have  me  filch  it? 

Iago.  [Snatching  it]  Why,  what’s  that  to  you? 

Emil.  If  it  be  not  for  some  purpose  of  import, 

Give’t  me  again : poor  lady,  she’ll  run  mad 
When  she  shall  lack  it. 

Iago.  Be  not  acknown  on’t;  I have  use  for  it. 

Go,  leave  me.  [Exit  Emilia.  320 

I will  in  Cassio’s  lodging  lose  this  napkin, 

And  let  him  find  it.  Trifles  light  as  air 

Are  to  the  jealous  confirmation  strong 

As  proofs  of  holy  writ:  this  may  do  something. 

The  Moor  already  changes  with  my  poison : 

Dangerous  conceits  are,  in  their  natures,  poisons, 

Which  at  the  first  are  scarce  found  to  distaste, 

But  with  a little  act  upon  the  blood, 

Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur.  I did  say  so: 

Look,  where  he  comes! 

Re-enter  Othello. 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora,  330 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 

Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  owedst  yesterday. 

Oth.  Ha!  ha!  false  to  me? 

Iago.  Why,  how  now,  general!  no  more  of  that. 

Oth.  Avaunt ! be  gone ! thou  hast  set  me  on  the  rack : 

I swear  ’tis  better  to  be  much  abused 
Than  but  to  know’t  a little. 

Iago.  How  now,  my  lord ! 

Oth.  What  sense  had  I of  her  stol’n  hours  of  lust? 

I saw’t  not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm’d  not  me : 

I slept  the  next  night  well,  was  free  and  merry;  340 

I found  not  Cassio’s  kisses  on  her  lips: 

He  that  is  robb’d,  not  wanting  what  is  stol’n, 

Let  him  not  know’t,  and  lie’s  not  robb’d  at  all. 

Iago.  I am  sorry  to  hear  this. 


46 


OTHELLO. 


[act  hi. 


Oth.  I had  been  happy,  if  the  general  camp, 
Pioneers  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sweet  body,  * 

So  I had  nothing  known.  O,  now,  forever 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind!  farewell  content! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars, 

That  make  ambition  virtue ! O,  farewell ! 

Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife, 

The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality, 

Pride,  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war! 

And,  O you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 
The  immortal  Jove’s  dread  clamours  counterfeit. 
Farewell ! Othello’s  occupation’s  gone ! 

Iago.  Is’t  possible,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a whore, 
Be  sure  of  it ; give  me  the  ocular  proof ; 

Or,  by  the  worth  of  man’s  eternal  soul, 

Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a dog 
Than  answer  my  waked  wrath! 

Iago.  Is’t  come  to  this? 

Oth.  Make  me  to  see’t;  or,  at  the  least,  so  prove  it, 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge  nor  loop 
To  hang  a doubt  on;  or  woe  upon  thy  life! 

Iago.  My  noble  lord, — 

Oth.  If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 
Never  pray  more;  abandon  all  remorse; 

On  horror’s  head  horrors  accumulate; 

Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amazed; 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 
Greater  than  that. 

Iago.  O grace ! O heaven  forgive  me ! 

Are  you  a man?  have  you  a soul  or  sense? 

God  be  wi’  you ; take  mine  office.  O wretched  fool, 
That  livest  to  make  thine  honesty  a vice! 

0 monstrous  world!  Take  note,  take  note,  O world, 
To  be  direct  and  honest  is  not  safe. 

1 thank  you  for  this  profit;  and  from  hence 

I’ll  love  no  friend,  sitli  love  breeds  such  offence. 

Oth.  Nay,  stay:  thou  shouldst  be  honest. 

Iago.  I should  be  wise,  for  honesty’s  a fool 
And  loses  that  it  works  for. 

Oth.  By  the  world, 

I think  my  wife  be  honest  and  think  she  is  not; 

I think  thou  art  just  and  think  thou  art  not. 

I’ll  have  some  proofs.  Her  name  that  was  as  fresh 
As  Dian’s  visage,  is  now  begrimed  and  black 
As  mine  own  face.  If  there  be  cords,  or  knives, 


350 

360 

370 

380 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


47 


Poison,  or  fire,  or  suffocating  streams, 

I’ll  not  endure  it.  Would  I were  satisfied!  390 

Iago,  I see,  sir,  you  are  eaten  up  with  passion: 

I do  repent  me  that  I put  it  to  you. 

You  would  be  satisfied? 

Oth.  Would!  nay,  I will. 

Iago.  And  may:  but,  how?  how  satisfied,  my  lord? 
Would  you,  the  supervisor,  grossly  gape  on — 

Behold  her  topp’d? 

Oth.  Death  and  damnation!  O! 

Iago.  It  were  a tedious  difficulty,  I think, 

To  bring  them  to  that  prospect:  damn  them  then, 

If  ever  mortal  eyes  do  see  them  bolster 

More  than  their  own ! What  then?  how  then?  400 

What  shall  I say?  Where’s  satisfaction? 

It  is  impossible  you  should  see  this, 

Were  they  as  prime  as  goats,  as  hot  as  monkeys, 

As  salt  as  wolves  in  pride,  and  fools  as  gross 
As  ignorance  made  drunk.  But  yet,  I say, 

If  imputation  and  strong  circumstances, 

Which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  truth, 

Will  give  you  satisfaction,  you  may  have’t. 

Oth.  Give  me  a living  reason  she’s  disloyal. 

Iago.  I do  not  like  the  office:  410 

But,  sitli  I am  enter’d  in  this  cause  so  far, 

Prick’d  to’t  by  foolish  honesty  and  love, 

I will  go  on.  I lay  with  Cassio  lately; 

And,  being  troubled  with  a raging  tooth, 

I could  not  sleep. 

There  are  a kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul, 

That  in  their  sleeps  will  mutter  their  affairs: 

One  of  this  kind  is  Cassio: 

In  sleep  I heard  him  say  “ Sweet  Desdemona, 

Let  us  be  wary,  let  us  hide  our  loves;”  420 

And  then,  sir,  would  he  gripe  and  wring  my  hand, 

Cry  “ O sweet  creature!”  and  then  kiss  me  hard, 

As  if  he  pluck’d  up  kisses  by  the  roots 
And  grew  upon  my  lips:  then  laid  his  leg 
Over  my  thigh,  and  sigh’d  and  kiss’d;  and  then, 

. Cried  “ Cursed  fate  that  gave  thee  to  the  Moor!” 

Oth.  O monstrous!  monstrous! 

Iago.  Hay,  this  was  but  his  dream. 

Oth.  But  this  denoted  a foregone  conclusion: 

’Tis  a shrewd  doubt,  though  it  be  but  a dream. 

Iago.  And  this,  may  help  to  thicken  other  proofs  430 
That  do  demonstrate  thinly. 

Oth , I’ll  tear  her  all  to  pieces, 


48 


OTHELLO. 


[act  III. 


Iago.  Nay,  but  be  wise:  yet  we  see  nothing  done; 

She  may  be  honest  yet.  Tell  me  but  this, 

Have  you  not  sometimes  seen  a handkerchief 
Spotted  with  strawberries  in  your  wife’s  hand? 

Oth.  I gave  her  such  a one ; ’twas  my  first  gift. 

Iago.  I know  not  that:  but  such  a handkerchief — 

I am  sure  it  was  your  wife’s — did  I to-day 
See  Cassio  wipe  his  beard  with. 

Oth.  If  it  be  that, — 

Iago.  If  it  be  that,  or  any  that  was  hers,  440 

It  speaks  against  her  with  the  other  proofs. 

Oth.  O,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives! 

One  is  too  poor,  too  weak  for  my  revenge. 

Now  do  I see  ’tis  true.  Look  here,  Iago; 

All  my  fond  love  thus  do  I blow  to  heaven. 

’Tis  gone. 

Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell! 

Yield  up,  O love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 
To  tyrannous  hate!  Swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught, 

For  ’tis  of  aspics’  tongues! 

Iago.  Yet  be  content.  450 

Oth.  0,  blood,  blood,  blood! 

Iago.  Patience,  I say;  your  mind  perhaps  may  change. 
Oth.  Never,  Iago.  Like  to  the  Pontic  sea, 

Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne’er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont, 

Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 

Shall  ne’er  look  back,  ne’er  ebb  to  humble  love, 

Till  that  a capable  and  wide  revenge 

Swallow  them  up.  Now,  by  yond  marble  heaven,  460 
[. Kneels ] In  the  due  reverence  of  a sacred  vow 
I here  engage  my  words. 

Iago.  Do  not  rise  yet. 

[Kneels]  Witness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above, 

You  elements  that  clip  us  round  about, 

Witness  that  here  Iago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart, 

To  wrong’d  Othello’s  service!  Let  him  command, 

And  to  obey  shall  be  in  me  remorse, 

What  bloody  business  ever.  [ They  rise. 

Oth.  I greet  thy  love, 

Not  with  vain  thanks,  but  with  acceptance  bounteous,  470 
And  will  upon  the  instant  put  thee  to’t: 

Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say 
That  Cassio’s  not  alive, 


SCENE  IY.] 


OTHELLO. 


49 


Iago.  My  friend  is  dead ; ’tis  done  at  your  request : 

But  let  lier  live. 

Oth.  Damn  her,  lewd  minx!  O,  damn  her! 

Come,  go  with  me  apart;  I will  withdraw, 

To  furnish  me  with  some  swift  means  of  death 
For  the  fair  devil.  Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant. 

Iago.  I am  your  own  for  ever.  [ Exeunt . 

Scene  IY.  Before  the  castle. 

Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  Clown. 

Des.  Do  you  know,  sirrah,  where  Lieutenant  Cassio 
lies? 

Glo.  I dare  not  say  he  lies  any  where. 

Des.  Why,  man? 

Glo.  He’s  a soldier,  and  for  one  to  say  a soldier  lies,  is 
stabbing. 

Des.  Go  to:  where  lodges  he? 

Glo.  To  tell  you  where  he  lodges,  is  to  tell  you  where 

I lie. 

Des.  Can  any  thing  be  made  of  this?  10 

Glo.  I know  not  where  he  lodges,  and  for  me  to  devise  a 
lodging  and  say  he  lies  here  or  he  lies  there,  were  to  lie  in 
mine  own  throat. 

Des.  Can  you  inquire  him  out,  and  be  edified  by  report? 

Glo.  I will  catechize  the  world  for  him;  that  is,  make 
questions,  and  by  them  answer. 

Des.  Seek  him,  bid  him  come  hither:  tell  him  I have 
moved  my  lord  on  his  behalf,  and  hope  all  will  be  well.  20 

Glo.  To  do  this  is  within  the  compass  of  man’s  wit;  and 
therefore  I will  attempt  the  doing  it.  [Exit. 

Des.  Where  should  I lose  that  handkerchief,  Emilia? 

Emil.  I know  not,  madam. 

Des.  Believe  me,  I had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  crusadoes:  and,  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 

Emil.  Is  he  not  jealous? 

Des.  Who,  he?  I think  the  sun  where  he  was  born  30 
Drew  all  such  humours  from  him. 

Emil.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Des.  I will  not  leave  him  now  till  Cassio 
Be  call’d  to  him. 

Enter  Othello. 

How  is’t  with  you,  my  lord? 

SHAK.  hi, — 16 


50  OTHELLO.  [act  nt 

Oth.  Well,  my  good  lady.  [Aside]  O,  hardness  to  dis- 
semble ! — 

How  do  you,  Desdemona? 

Des.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

Oth.  Give  me  your  hand : this  hand  is  moist,  my  lady. 
Des.  It  yet  hath  felt  no  age  nor  known  no  sorrow. 

Oth.  This  argues  fruitfulness  and  liberal  heart: 

Hot,  hot,  and  moist:  this  hand  of  yours  requires 
A sequester  from  liberty,  fasting  and  prayer,  40 

Much  castigation,  exercise  devout; 

For  here ’s  a young  and  sweating  devil  here. 

That  commonly  rebels.  ’Tis  a good  hand, 

A frank  one. 

Des.  You  may,  indeed,  say  so; 

For  ’twas  that  hand  that  gave  away  my  heart. 

Oth.  A liberal  hand,  the  hearts  of  old  gave  hands; 

But  our  new  heraldr}^  is  hands,  not  hearts. 

Des.  I cannot  speak  of  this.  Come  now,  your  promise. 
Oth.  What  promise,  chuck? 

Des.  I have  sent  to  bid  Cassio  come  speak  with  you.  50 
Oth.  I have  a salt  and  sorry  rheum  offends  me; 

Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

Des.  Here,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That  wdiich  I gave  you. 

Des.  I have  it  not  about  me. 

Oth.  Hot? 

Des.  Ho,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That  is  a fault. 

That  handkerchief 

Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give; 

She  w'as  a charmer,  and  could  almost  read 

The  thoughts  of  people:  she  told  her,  while  she  kept  it, 

’Twould  make  her  amiable  and  subdue  my  father 

Entirely  to  her  love,  but  if  she  lost  it  60 

Or  made  a gift  of  it,  my  father’s  eye 

Should  hold  her  loathed  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 

After  new  fancies : she,  dying,  gave  it  me ; 

And  bid  me,  when  my  fate  wTould  have  me  wive, 

To  give  it  her.  I did  so:  and  take  heed  on’t; 

Make  it  a darling  like  your  precious  eye; 

To  lose’t  or  give’t  away  were  such  perdition 
As  nothing  else  could  match. 

Des.  Is’t  possible? 

Oth.  ’Tis  true:  there’s  magic  in  the  wTeb  of  it: 

A sibyl,  that  had  number’d  in  the  world  70 

The  sun  to  course  two  hundred  compasses, 

In  her  prophetic  fury  sew’d  the  work; 


SCENE  IY.] 


OTHELLO* 


51 


The  worms  were  hallow’d  that  did  breed  the  silk; 

And  it  was  dyed  in  mummy  which  the  skilful 
Conserved  of  maidens’  hearts. 

Des.  Indeed!  is’t  true? 

Oth.  Most  veritable ; therefore  look  to’t  well. 

Des.  Then  would  to  God  that  I had  never  seen’t! 

Oth.  Ila!  wherefore? 

Des.  Why  do  you  speak  so  startingly  and  rash? 

Oth.  Is’t  lost?  is’t  gone?  speak,  is  it  out  o’  the  way?  80 

Des.  Heaven  bless  us! 

Oth.  Say  you? 

Des.  It  is  not  lost;  but  what  an  if  it  were? 

Oth.  How! 

Des.  I say,  it  is  not  lost. 

Oth.  Fetcli’t,  let  me  see’t. 

Des.  Why,  so  I can,  sir,  but  I will  not  now. 

This  is  a trick  to  put  me  from  my  suit : 

Pray  you,  let  Cassio  be  received  again. 

Oth.  Fetch  me  the  handkerchief:  my  mind  misgives. 

Des.  Come,  come;  90 

You’ll  never  meet  a more  sufficient  man. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  I pray,  talk  me  of  Cassio. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  A man  that  all  his  time 

Hath  founded  his  good  fortunes  on  your  love, 

Shared  dangers  with  you, — 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  In  sooth,  you  are  to  blame. 

Oth.  Away ! [Exit. 

Emil.  Is  not  this  man  jealous? 

Des.  I ne’er  saw  this  before.  100 

Sure,  there’s  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief: 

I am  most  unhappy  in  the  loss  of  it. 

Emil.  ’Tis  not  a year  or  two  shows  us  a man: 

They  are  all  but  stomachs,  and  we  all  but  food; 

They  eat  us  hungerly,  and  when  they  are  full, 

They  belch  us.  Look  you,  Cassio  and  my  husband! 

Enter  Cassio  and  I ago. 

Iago.  There  is  no  other  way;  ’tis  she  must  do’t: 

And,  lo,  the  happiness!  go,  and  importune  her. 

Des.  How  now,  good  Cassio!  wdiat’s  the  news  with  you? 

Gas.  Madam,  my  former  suit:  I do  beseech  you  110 
That  by  your  virtuous  means  I may  again 
Exist,  and  be  a member  of  his  love 
Whom  I with  all  the  office  of  my  heart 


52 


OTHELLO. 


[act  lit 


Entirely  honour:  I would  not  be  delay’d. 

If  my  offence  be  of  such  mortal  kind 

That  nor  my  service  past,  nor  present  sorrows, 

Nor  purposed  merit  in  futurity, 

Can  ransom  me  into  his  love  again, 

But  to  know  so  must  be  my  benefit; 

So  shall  I clothe  me  in  a forced  content,  120 

And  shut  myself  up  in  some  other  course, 

To  fortune’s  alms. 

Des,  Alas,  tlirice-gentle  Cassio! 

My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune; 

My  lord  is  not  my  lord;  nor  should  I know  him, 

Were  he  in  favour  as  in  humour  alter’d. 

So  help  me  every  spirit  sanctified, 

As  I have  spoken  for  you  all  my  best 

And  stood  within  the  blank  of  his  displeasure 

For  my  free  speech!  you  must  awhile  be  patient: 

What  I can  do  I will;  and  more  I will  130 

Than  for  myself  I dare : let  that  suffice  you. 

Iago.  Is  my  lord  angry? 

Emil.  He  went  hence  but  now, 

And  certainly  in  strange  unquietness. 

Iago.  Can  he  be  angry?  1 have  seen  the  cannon, 

When  it  hath  blown  his  ranks  into  the  air, 

And,  like  the  devil,  from  his  very  arm 
Puff’d  his  own  brother: — and  can  he  be  angry? 

Something  of  moment  then:  I will  go  meet  him: 

There’s  matter  in’t  indeed,  if  he  be  angry. 

Des.  I prithee,  do  so.  [Exit  Iago. 

Something,  sure,  of  state,  140 
Either  from  Venice,  or  some  unhatch’d  practice 
Made  demonstrable  here  in  Cyprus  to  him, 

Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit;  and  in  such  cases 
Men’s  natures  wrangle  with  inferior  things, 

Though  great  ones  are  their  object.  ’Tis  even  so; 

For  let  our  finger  ache,  and  it  indues 

Our  other  healthful  members  even  to  that  sense 

Of  pain:  nay,  we  must  think  men  are  not  gods, 

Nor  of  them  look  for  such  observances 

As  fit  the  bridal.  Beshrew  me  much,  Emilia,  150 

I was,  unhandsome  warrior  as  I am, 

Arraigning  his  unkindness  with  my  soul; 

But  now  I find  I had  suborn’d  the  witness, 

And  he’s  indicted  falsely. 

Emil.'  Pray  heaven  it  be  state-matters,  as  you  think, 

And  no  conception  nor  no  jealous  toy 
Concerning  you. 


SCENE  IV.] 


OTHELLO. 


53 


Des.  Alas  the  day ! I never  gave  him  Cause. 

Emil.  But  jealous  souls  will  not  be  answer’d  so; 

They  are  not  ever  jealous  for  the  cause,  160 

But  jealous  for  they  are  jealous:  ’tis  a monster 
Begot  upon  itself,  born  on  itself. 

Des.  Heaven  keep  that  monster  from  Othello’s  mind! 
Emil.  Lady,  amen. 

Des.  I will  go  seek  him.  Cassio,  walk  hereabout : 

If  I do  find  him  fit,  I’ll  move  your  suit 
And  seek  to  effect  it  to  my  uttermost. 

Gas.  I humbly  thank  your  ladyship. 

[. Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  Save  you,  friend  Cassio! 

Cas.  What  make  you  from  home? 

How  is  it  with  you,  my  most  fair  Bianca?  170 

I’  faith,  sweet  love,  I was  coming  to  your  house. 

Bian.  And  I was  going  to  your  lodging,  Cassio. 

What,  keep  a week  away?  seven  days  and  nights? 

Eight  score  eight  hours?  and  lovers’  absent  hours, 

More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times? 

0 weary  reckoning! 

Gas.  Pardon  me,  Bianca: 

1 have  this  while  with  leaden  thoughts  been  press’d; 

But  I shall,  in  a more  continuate  time, 

Strike  off  this  score  of  absence.  Sweet  Bianca, 

[' Giving  her  Desdemona1  s handkerchief. 
Take  me  this  work  out. 

Bian.  O Cassio,  whence  came  this?  180 

This  is  some  token  from  a newer  friend: 

To  the  felt  absence  now  I feel  a cause: 

Is’t  come  to  this?  Well,  well. 

Gas.  Go  to,  woman! 

Throw  your  vile  guesses  in  the  devil’s  teeth, 

From  whence  you  have  them.  You  are  jealous  now 
That  this  is  from  some  mistress,  some  remembrance: 

No,  in  good  troth,  Bianca. 

Bian.  Why,  whose  is  it? 

Gas.  I know  not,  sweet:  I found  it  in  my  chamber. 

I like  the  work  well:  ere  it  be  demanded — 

As  like  enough  it  will — I’ld  have  it  copied : 190 

Take  it,  and  do’t;  and  leave  me  for  this  time. 

Bian.  Leave  you!  wherefore? 

Gas.  I do  attend  here  on  the  general; 

And  think  it  no  addition,  nor  my  wish, 

To  have  him  see  me  woman’d. 


54 


OTHELLO. 


[act  rv. 


Bian.  Why,  I pray  you? 

Cas.  Hot  that  I love  you  not. 

Bian.  But  that  you  do  not  love  me. 

I pray  you,  bring  me  on  the  way  a little, 

And  say  if  I shall  see  you  soon  at  night. 

Cas.  ’Tis  but  a little  way  that  I can  bring  you ; 

For  I attend  here : but  I’ll  see  you  soon.  200 

Bian.  ’Tis  very  good ; I must  be  circumstanced,  [j Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  Cyprus.  Before  the  castle. 

Enter  Othello  and  Iago. 

Iago.  Will  you  think  so? 

Oth.  Think  so,  Iago ! 

Iago.  What, 

To  kiss  in  private? 

Oth.  An  unauthorized  kiss. 

Iago.  Or  to  be  naked  with  her  friend  in  bed 
An  hour  or  more,  not  meaning  any  harm? 

Oth.  Haked  in  bed,  Iago,  and  not  mean  harm! 

It  is  hypocrisy  against  the  devil : 

They  that  mean  virtuously,  and  yet  do  so, 

The  devil  their  virtue  tempts,  and  they  tempt  heaven. 

Iago.  So  they  do  nothing,  ’tis  a venial  slip: 

But  if  I give  my  wife  a handkerchief, — 10 

Oth.  What  then? 

Iago.  Why,  then,  ’tis  hers,  my  lord ; and,  being  hers, 
She  may,  I think,  bestow’t  on  any  man. 

Oth.  She  is  protectress  of  her  honour  too : 

May  she  give  that? 

Iago.  Her  honour  is  an  essence  that’s  not  seen; 

They  have  it  very  oft  that  have  it  not: 

But,  for  the  handkerchief, — 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I would  most  gladly  have  forgot  it. 
Thou  said’st — O,  it  comes  o’er  my  memory,  20 

As  doth  the  raven  o’er  the  infected  house, 

Boding  to  all — he  had  my  handkerchief. 

Iago.  Ay,  what  of  that? 

Oth.  That’s  not  so  good  now. 

Iago.  What, 

If  I had  said  I had  seen  him  do  you  wrong? 

Or  heard  him  say, — as  knaves  be  such  abroad, 

Who  having,  by  their  own  importunate  suit, 

Or  voluntary  dotage  of  some  mistress, 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


55 


Convinced  or  supplied  them,  cannot  choose 
But  they  must  blab — 

Oth.  Hath  he  said  any  thing? 

Iago.  He  hath,  my  lord ; but  be  you  well  assured,  30 
No  more  than  he’ll  unswear. 

Oth.  What  hath  he  said? 

Iago . ’Faith,  that  he  did — I know  not  what  he  did. 

Oth.  What?  what? 

Iago.  Lie — 

Oth.  With  her? 

Iago.  With  her,  on  her;  what  you  will. 

Oth.  Lie  with  her!  lie  on  her!  We  say  lie  on  her,  when 
they  belie  her.  Lie  with  her!  that’s  fulsome. — Handker- 
chief— confessions — handkerchief  ! — To  confess,  and  be 
hanged  for  his  labour; — first,  to  be  hanged,  and  then  to 
confess. — I tremble  at  it.  Nature  would  not  invest  her- 
self in  such  shadowing  passion  without  some  instruction. 
It  is  not  words  that  shake  me  thus.  Pish!  Noses,  ears, 
and  lips. — Is’t  possible? — Confess — handkerchief! — O devil! 

[Falls  in  a trance. 

Iago.  Work  on, 

My  medicine,  work!  Thus  credulous  fools  are  caught; 
And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames  even  thus, 

All  guiltless,  meet  reproach.  What,  ho!  my  lord! 

My  lord,  I say ! Othello ! 

Enter  Cassio. 

How  now,  Cassio! 

Gas.  What’s  the  matter?  50 

Iago.  My  lord  is  fall’n  into  an  epilepsy: 

This  is  his  second  fit;  be  had  one  yesterday. 

Gas.  Rub  him  about  the  temples. 

Iago.  No,  forbear; 

The  lethargy  must  have  his  quiet  course: 

If  not,  he  foams  at  mouth  and  by  and  by 
Breaks  out  to  savage  madness.  Look,  he  stirs: 

Do  you  withdraw  yourself  a little  while, 

He  will  recover  straight:  when  he  is  gone, 

I would  on  great  occasion  speak  with  you.  [Exit  Cassio. 
How  is  it,  general?  have  you  not  hurt  your  head?  60 
Oth.  Dost  thou  mock  me? 

Iago.  I mock  you ! no,  by  heaven. 

Would  you  would  bear  your  fortune  like  a man! 

Oth.  A horned  man’s  a monster  and  a beast. 

Iago.  There’s  many  a beast  then  in  a populous  city, 

And  many  a civil  monster. 

Oth , Did  he  confess  it? 


56 


OTHELLO. 


[act  iy. 


Iago.  Good  sir,  be  a man ; 

Think  every  bearded  fellow  that’s  but  yoked 

May  draw  with  you:  there’s  millions  now  alive 

That  nightly  lie  in  those  unproper  beds 

Which  they  dare  swear  peculiar:  your  case  is  better.  70 

O,  ’tis  the  spite  of  hell,  the  fiend’s  arcli-mock, 

To  lip  a wanton  in  a secure  couch, 

And  to  suppose  her  chaste!  No,  let  me  know; 

And  knowing  what  I am,  I know  what  she  shall  be. 

Oth.  O,  thou  art  wise;  ’tis  certain. 

Iago.  Stand  you  awhile  apart; 

Confine  yourself  but  in  a patient  list. 

Whilst  you  were  here  o’erwlielmed  with  your  grief — 

A passion  most  unsuiting  such  a man — 

Cassio  came  hither:  I shifted  him  away, 

And  laid  good  ’scuse  upon  your  ecstasy,  80 

Bade  him  anon  return  and  here  speak  with  me; 

The  which  he  promised.  Do  but  encave  yourself, 

And  mark  the  fleers,  the  gibes,  and  notable  scorns, 

That  dwell  in  every  region  of  his  face; 

For  I will  make  him  tell  the  tale  anew, 

Where,  how,  how  oft,  how  long  ago,  and  when 
He  hath,  and  is  again  to  cope  your  wife: 

I say,  but  mark  his  gesture.  Marry,  patience; 

Or  I shall  say  you  are  all  in  all  in  spleen, 

And  nothing  of  a man. 

Oth.  Dost  thou  hear,  Iago?  90 

I will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience; 

But— dost  thou  hear? — most  bloody. 

Iago.  That’s  not  amiss; 

But  yet  keep  time  in  all.  Will  you  withdraw? 

[ Othello  retires. 

Now  will  I question  Cassio  of  Bianca, 

A housewife  that  by  selling  her  desires 
Buys  herself  bread  and  clothes:  it  is  a creature 
That  dotes  on  Cassio ; as  ’tis  the  strumpet’s  plague 
To  beguile  many  and  be  beguiled  by  one: 

He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 

From  the  excess  of  laughter.  Here  he  comes : 100 

Re-enter  Cassio. 

As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad; 

And  his  unbookish  jealousy  must  construe 
Poor  Cassio’s  smiles,  gestures  and  light  behaviour, 

Quite  in  the  wrong.  How  do  you  now,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  The  worser  that  you  give  me  the  addition 
Whose  want  even  kills  me, 


57 


scene  i.]  OTHELLO, 

Iago.  Ply  Desdemona  well,  and  you  are  sure  on’t. 

[, Speaking  lower ] Now,  if  this  suit  lay  in  Bianca’s  power. 
How  quickly  should  you  speed  1 

Cas.  Alas,  poor  caitiff! 

Oth.  Look,  how  he  laughs  already ! 110 

lago.  I never  knew  woman  love  man  so. 

Cas.  Alas,  poor  rogue!  I think,  i’  faith,  she  loves  me. 
Oth.  Now  he  denies  it  faintly,  and  laughs  it  out. 

Iago.  Do  you  hear,  Cassio? 

Oth.  Now  he  importunes  him 

To  tell  it  o’er:  go  to;  well  said,  well  said. 

Iago.  She  gives  it  out  that  you  shall  marry  her : 

Do  you  intend  it? 

Cas.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  120 

Oth.  Do  you  triumph,  Roman?  do  you  triumph? 

Cas.  I marry  her!  what?  a customer!  Prithee,  bear 
some  charity  to  my  wit ; do  not  think  it  so  unwholesome. 
Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Oth.  So,  so,  so,  so:  they  laugh  that  win. 

Iago.  ’Faith,  the  cry  goes  that  you  shall  marry  her. 

Cas.  Prithee,  say  true. 

Iago.  I am  a very  villain  else. 

Oth.  Have  you  scored  me?  Well.  130 

Cas.  This  is  the  monkey’s  own  giving  out:  she  is  per- 
suaded I will  marry  her,  out  of  her  own  love  and  flattery, 
not  out  of  my  promise. 

Oth.  Iago  beckons  me;  now  he  begins  the  story. 

Cas.  She  was  here  even  now;  she  haunts  me  in  every 
place.  I was  the  other  day  talking  on  the  sea-bank  with 
certain  Venetians;  and  thither  comes  the  bauble,  and,  by 
this  hand,  she  falls  me  thus  about  my  neck — 140 

Oth.  Crying  “O  dear  Cassio!”  as  it  were:  his  gesture 
imports  it. 

Cas.  So  hangs,  and  lolls,  and  weeps  upon  me;  so  hales, 
and  pulls  me:  ha,  ha,  ha! 

Oth.  Now  he  tells  how  she  plucked  him  to  my  chamber. 
O.  I see  that  nose  of  yours,  but  not  that  dog  I shall  throw 
it  to. 

Cas.  Well,  I must  leave  her  company. 

Iago.  Before  me!  look,  where  she  comes.  150 

Cas.  ’Tis  such  another  fitchew ! marry,  a perfumed  one. 

Enter  Bianca. 

What  do  you  mean  by  this  haunting  of  me? 

Bian.  Let  the  devil  and  his  dam  haunt  you!  What  did 
you  mean  by  that  same  handkerchief  you  gave  me  even 
now?  I was  a fine  fool  to  take  it.  I must  take  out  the 


58 


OTHELLO. 


[act  IV. 


work? — A likely  piece  of  work,  that  you  should  find  it  in 
your  chamber,  and  not  know  who  left  it  there!  This  is 
some  minx’s  token,  and  I must  take  out  the  work?  There; 
give  it  your  hobby-horse:  wheresoever  you  had  it,  I’ll  take 
out  no  work  on’t.  161 

Cas.  How  now,  my  sweet  Bianca!  how  now!  how  now! 

Oth.  By  heaven,  that  should  be  my  handkerchief ! 

Bian.  An  you’ll  come  to  supper  to-night,  you  may;  an 
you  will  not,  come  when  you  are  next  prepared  for.  [Exit. 

Iago.  After  her,  after  her.  170 

Cas.  ’Faith,  I must ; she’ll  rail  in  the  street  else. 

Iago.  Will  you  sup  there? 

Cas.  ’Faith,  I intend  so. 

Iago.  Well,  I may  chance  to  see  you:  for  I would  very 
fain  speak  with  you. 

Cas.  Prithee,  come;  will  you? 

Iago.  Go  to;  say  no  more.  [Exit  Cassio. 

Oth.  [Advancing]  How  shall  I murder  him,  Iago?  180 

Iago.  Hid  you  perceive  how  he  laughed  at  his  vice? 

Oth.  O Iago! 

Iago.  And  did  you  see  the  hankercliief? 

Oth.  Was  that  mine? 

Iago.  Yours,  by  this  hand:  and  to  see  how  he  prizes  the 
foolish  woman  your  wife!  she  gave  it  him,  and  he  hath 
given  it  his  whore. 

Oth.  I would  have  him  nine  years  a-killing.  A fine  wo- 
man! a fair  woman!  a sweet  woman! 

Iago.  Nay,  you  must  forget  that.  190 

Oth.  Ay,  let  her  rot,  and  perish,  and  be  damned  to-night; 
for  she  shall  not  live:  no,  my  heart  is  turned  to  stone;  I 
strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my  hand.  O,  the  world  hath  not  a 
sweeter  creature : she  might  lie  by  an  emperor’s  side  and 
command  him  tasks. 

Iago.  Nay,  that’s  not  your  way. 

Oth.  Hang  her!  I do  but  say  what  she  is:  so  delicate 
with  her  needle : an  admirable  musician : O ! she  will  sing 
the  savageness  out  of  a bear:  of  so  high  and  plenteous  wit 
and  invention: — 201 

Iago.  She’s  the  worse  for  all  this. 

Oth.  O,  a thousand  thousand  times:  and  then,  of  so 
gentle  a condition ! 

Iago.  Ay,  too  gentle. 

Oth.  Nay,  that’s  certain:  but  yet  the  pity  of  it,  Iago!  0 
Iago,  the  pity  of  it,  Iago ! 

Iago.  If  you  are  so  fond  over  her  iniquity,  give  her  pa- 
tent to  offend;  for,  if  it  touch  not  you,  it  comes  near  no- 
body. 210 


SCENE  I.] 


OTHELLO. 


59 


Oth.  I will  chop  her  into  messes : cuckold  me ! 
lago.  O,  ’tis  foul  in  her. 

Oth . With  mine  officer! 
lago.  That’s  fouler. 

Oth.  Get  me  some  poison,  lago;  this  night:  I’ll  not  ex- 
postulate with  her,  lest  her  body  and  beauty  unprovide  my 
mind  again:  this  night,  lago.  219 

lago.  Do  it  not  with  poison,  strangle  her  in  her  bed,  even 
the  bed  she  hath  contaminated. 

Oth.  Good,  good:  the  justice  of  it  pleases:  very  good. 
lago.  And  for  Cassio,  let  me  be  his  undertaker:  you  shall 
hear  more  by  midnight. 

Oth.  Excellent  good.  [A  trumpet  within.']  What  trumpet 
is  that  same? 

lago.  Something  from  Venice,  sure.  ’Tis  Lodovico 
Come  from  the  duke : and,  see,  your  wife  is  with  him. 

Enter  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 

Lod.  Save  you,  worthy  general ! 

Oth.  With  all  my  heart,  sir. 

Lod.  The  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  greet  you 

[ Gives  him  a letter. 

Oth.  I kiss  the  instrument  of  their  pleasures. 

[ Opens  the  letter , and  reads . 
Des.  And  what’s  the  news,  good  cousin  Lodovico? 
lago.  I am  very  glad  to  see  you,  signior; 

Welcome  to  Cyprus. 

Lod.  I thank  you.  How  does  Lieutenant  Cassio? 
lago.  Lives,  sir. 

Des.  Cousin,  there’s  fall’n  between  him  and  my  lord 
An  unkind  breach:  but  you  shall  make  all  well. 

Oth.  Are  you  sure  of  that? 

Des.  My  lord? 

Oth.  [Beads]  “ This  fail  you  not  to  do,  as  you  will — ” 240 
Lod.  He  did  not  call;  he’s  busy  in  the  paper. 

Is  there  division  ’twixt  my  lord  and  Cassio? 

Des.  A most  unhappy  one : I would  do  much 
To  atone  them,  for  the  love  I bear  to  Cassio. 

Oth.  Fire  and  brimstone ! 

Des.  My  lord? 

Oth.  Are  you  wise? 

Des.  What,  is  he  angry? 

Lod.  May  be  the  letter  moved  him : 

For,  as  I think,  they  do  command  him  home. 

Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 

Des.  Trust  me,  I am  glad  on’t. 

Qth  t Indeed! 


60 


OTHELLO. 


[ACT  IV. 


Des.  My  lord? 

Oth.  I am  glad  to  see  you  mad. 

Des . Why,  sweet  Othello, — 250 

Oth.  r Striking  her ] Devil ! 

Des.  I have  not  deserved  this. 

Lod.  My  lord,  this  would  not  be  believed  in  Venice, 
Though  I should  swear  I saw’t:  ’tis  very  much: 

Make  her  amends ; she  weeps. 

Oth.  O devil,  devil! 

If  that  the  earth  could  teem  with  woman’s  tears, 

Each  drop  she  falls  would  prove  a crocodile. 

Out  of  my  sight! 

Des.  I will  not  stay  to  offend  you.  [ Going . 

Lod.  Truly,  an  obedient  lady: 

I do  beseech  your  lordship,  call  her  back.  260 

Oth.  Mistress! 

Des.  My  lord  ? 

Oth.  What  would  you  with  her,  sir? 

Lod.  Who,  I,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Ay;  you  did  wish  that  I would  make  her  turn: 

Sir,  she  can  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on, 

And  turn  again;  and  she  can  wTeep,  sir,  weep; 

And  she’s  obedient,  as  you  say,  obedient, 

Very  obedient.  Proceed  you  in  your  tears. 

Concerning  this,  sir, — O well-painted  passion! — 

I am  commanded  home.  Get  you  away; 

I’ll  send  for  you  anon.  Sir,  I obey  the  mandate,  270 
And  will  return  to  Venice.  Hence,  avaunt! 

[Exit  Desdemona. 

Cassio  shall  have  my  place.  And,  sir,  to-night, 

I do  entreat  that  we  may  sup  together: 

You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus. — Goats  and  monkeys! 

[Exit. 

Lod.  Is  this  the  noble  Moor  whom  our  full  senate 
Call  all  in  all  sufficient?  Is  this  the  nature 
Whom  passion  could  not  shake?  whose  solid  virtue 
The  shot  of  accident,  nor  dart  of  chance, 

Could  neither  graze  nor  pierce? 

Iago.  He  is  much  changed. 

Lod.  Are  his  wits  safe?  is  he  not  light  of  brain?  280 
Iago.  He’s  that  he  is:  I may  not  breathe  my  censure 
What  he  might  be:  if  what  he  might  he  is  not, 

I would  to  heaven  he  were! 

Lod.  What,  strike  his  wife! 

Iago.  ’Faith,  that  was  not  so  well;  yet  would  I knew 
That  stroke  would  prove  the  worst! 

Lod,  Is  it  his  vise? 


SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


Cl 


Or  did  the  letters  work  upon  his  blood, 

And  new-create  this  fault? 

Iago.  Alas,  alas! 

It  is  not  honesty  in  me  to  speak 

What  I have  seen  and  known.  You  shall  observe  him, 
And  his  own  courses  will  denote  him  so  290 

That  I may  save  my  speech : do  but  go  after, 

And  mark  how  he  continues. 

Lod.  I am  sorry  that  I am  deceived  in  him.  [ Exeunt . 


Scene  II.  A room  in  the  castle . 

Enter  Othello  and  Emilia. 

Oth.  .You  have  seen  nothing,  then? 

Emil.  Nor  ever  heard,  nor  ever  did  suspect. 

Oth.  Yes,  you  have  seen  Cassio  and  she  together. 

Emil.  But  then  I saw  no  harm,  and  then  I heard 
Each  syllable  that  breath  made  up  between  them. 

Oth.  What,  did  they  never  whisper? 

Emil.  Never,  my  lord. 

Oth.  Nor  send  you  out  o’  the  way? 

Emil.  Never. 

Oth.  To  fetch  her  fan,  her  gloves,  her  mask,  nor  nothing? 
Emil.  Never,  my  lord.  10 

Oth.  That’s  strange. 

Emil.  I durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest, 

Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake  if  you  think  other, 

Remove  your  thought;  it  doth  abuse  your  bosom. 

If  any  wretch  have  put  this  in  your  head, 

Let  heaven  requite  it  with  the  serpent’s  curse! 

For,  if  she  be  not  honest,  chaste,  and  true, 

There’s  no  man  happy;  the  purest  of  their  wives 
Is  foul  as  slander. 

Oth.  Bid  her  come  hither:  go.  [ Exit  Emilia. 

She  says  enough;  yet  she’s  a simple  bawd  20 

That  cannot  say  as  much  This  is  a subtle  whore, 

A closet  lock  and  key  of  villanous  secrets: 

And  yet  she’ll  kneel  and  pray;  I have  seen  her  do’t. 

Enter  Desdemona  with  Emilia. 

Des.  My  lord,  what  is  your  will? 

Oth.  Pray,  chuck,  come  hither, 

Des.  What  is  your  pleasure? 

Oth.  Let  me  see  your  eyes; 

Look  in  my  face. 

Des,  What  horrible  fancy’s  this? 


62 


OTHELLO. 


[ACT  IV. 


Oth.  [To  Emilia ] Some  of  your  function,  mistress; 

Leave  procreants  alone  and  sliut  the  door; 

Cough,  or  cry  “hem,”  if  any  body  come: 

Your  mystery,  your  mystery:  nay,  dispatch.  80 

[Exit  Emilia. 

Des.  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  import? 

I understand  a fury  in  your  words,  * 

But  not  the  words. 

Oth.  Why,  what  art  thou? 

Des.  Your  wife,  my  lord;  your  true 

And  loyal  wife. 

Oth . Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself ; 

Lest,  being  like  one  of  heaven,  the  devils  themselves 
Should  fear  to  seize  thee:  therefore  be  double  damn’d: 
Swear  thou  art  honest. 

Des.  Heaven  doth  truly  know  it. 

Oth.  Heaven  truly  knows  that  thou  art  false  as  hell. 

Des.  To  whom,  my  lord?  with  whom?  how  am  I false?  40 
Oth.  ODesdemona!  away!  away!  away! 

Des.  Alas  the  heavy  day ! Why  do  you  weep? 

Ami  the  motive  of  these  tears,  my  lord? 

If  haply  you  my  father  do  suspect 
An  instrument  of  this  your  calling  back, 

Lay  not  your  blame  on  me:  if  you  have  lost  him, 

Why,  I have  lost  him  too. 

Oth.  Had  it  pleased  heaven 

To  try  me  with  affliction;  had  they  rain’d 
All  kinds  of  sores  and  shames  on  my  bare  head, 

Steep’d  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips,  50 

Given  to  captivity  me  and  my  utmost  hopes, 

I should  have  found  in  some  place  of  my  soul 
A drop  of  patience:  but,  alas,  to  make  me 
|A  fixed  figure  for  the  time  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow  unmoving  finger  at! 

Yet  could  I bear  that  too;  well,  very  well: 

But  there,  where  I have  garner’d  up  my  heart, 

Where  either  I must  live,  or  bear  no  life; 

The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 

Or  else  dries  up;  to  be  discarded  thence!  60 

Or  keep  it  as  a cistern  for  foul  toads 
To  knot  and  gender  in ! Turn  thy  complexion  there, 
Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lipp’d  cherubin, — 

Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell! 

Des.  I hope  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

Oth.  O,  ay;  as  summer  flies  are  in  the  shambles, 

That  quicken  even  with  blowing.  O thou  weed, 

Who  art  so  lovely  fair  and  smell’st  so  sweet 


SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


63 


That  the  sense  aches  at  thee,  would  thou  hadst  ne’er  been 
born! 

Des.  Alas,  what  ignorant  sin  have  I committed?  70 
Oth.  Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 

Made  to  write  “whore”  upon?  What  committed  I 
Committed!  O thou  public  commoner! 

I should  make  very  forges  of  my  cheeks, 

That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty, 

Did  I but  speak  thy  deeds.  What  committed! 

Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it  and  the  moon  winks, 

The  bawdy  wind  that  kisses  all  it  meets 
Is  hush’d  within  the  hollow  mine  of  earth, 

And  will  not  hear  it.  What  committed!  80 

Impudent  strumpet ! 

Des.  By  heaven,  you  do  me  wrong. 

Oth.  Are  not  you  a strumpet? 

Des.  No,  as  I am  a Christian: 

If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord 
From  any  other  foul  unlawful  touch 
Be  not  to  be  a strumpet,  I am  none. 

Oth.  What,  not  a whore? 

Des.  No,  as  I shall  be  saved. 

Oth.  Is’t  possible? 

Des.  O,  heaven  forgive  us! 

Oth.  I cry  you  mercy,  then: 

I took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice 
That  married  with  Othello.  [. Raising  his  voice ] You,  mis- 
tress, 90 

That  have  the  office  opposite  to  Saint  Peter, 

And  keep  the  gate  of  hell ! 

Re-enter  Emilia. 

You,  you,  ay,  you: 

We  have  done  our  course;  there’s  money  for  your  pains: 

I pray  you,  turn  the  key  and  keep  our  counsel.  [Exit. 

Emil.  Alas,  what  does  this  gentleman  conceive? 

How  do  3rou,  madam?  how  do  you,  my  good  lady? 

Des.  ’Faith,  half  asleep. 

Emil . Good  madam,  what’s  the  matter  with  my  lord? 
Des.  With  who? 

Emil.  Why,  with  my  lord,  madam.  100 

Des.  Who  is  thy  lord? 

Emil.  He  that  is  yours,  sweet  lady. 

Des.  I have  none:  do  not  talk  to  me,  Emilia; 

I cannot  weep;  nor  answer  have  I none, 

But  what  should  go  by  water.  Prithee,  to-night 


64 


OTHELLO. 


[act  IVs. 


Lay  on  my  bed  my  wedding  sheets:  temefriber; 

And  call  thy  husband  hither. 

Emil.  Here’s  a change  indeed ! [Exit. 

Des.  ’Tis  meet  I should  be  used  so,  very  meet. 

How  have  I been  behaved,  that  he  might  stick 
The  small’st  opinion  on  my  least  misuse? 

Be-enter  Emilia  with  Iago. 

Iago.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam?  How  is’t  with 
you?  110 

Des.  I cannot  tell.  Those  that  do  teach  young  babes 
Bo  it  with  gentle  means  and  easy  tasks: 

He  might  have  chid  me  so;  for,  in  good  faith, 

I am  a child  to  chiding. 

Iago.  What’s  the  matter,  lady? 

Emil.  Alas,  Iago,  my  lord  hath  so  bewliored  her, 
Thrown  such  despite  and  heavy  terms  upon  her, 

As  true  hearts  cannot  bear. 

Des.  Am  I that  name,  Iago? 

Iago.  What  name,  fair  lady? 

Des.  Such  as  she  says  my  lord  did  say  I was. 

Emil.  He  call’d  her  whore:  a beggar  in  his  drink  120 
Could  not  have  laid  such  terms  upon  his  callat. 

Iago.  Why  did  he  so? 

Des.  I do  not  know;  I am  sure  I am  none  such. 

Iago.  Do  not  weep,  do  not  weep.  Alas  the  day! 

Emil.  Hath  she  forsook  so  many  noble  matches, 

Her  father  and  her  country  and  her  friends, 

To  be  call’d  whore?  would  it  not  make  one  weep? 

Des.  It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 

Iago.  Beshrew  him  for’t! 

How  comes  this  trick  upon  him? 

Des.  Nay,  heaven  doth  know. 

Emil.  I will  be  bang’d,  if  some  eternal  villain,  130 
Some  busy  and  insinuating  rogue, 

Some  cogging,  cozening  slave,  to  get  some  office, 

Have  not  devised  this  slander;  I’ll  be  bang’d  else. 

Iago.  Fie,  there  is  no  such  man;  it  is  impossible. 

Des.  If  any  such  there  be,  heaven  pardon  him! 

Emil.  A halter  pardon  him!  and  hell  gnaw  his  bones! 
Why  should  he  call  her  whore?  who  keeps  her  company? 
What  place?  what  time?  what  form?  what  likelihood? 
The  Moor’s  abused  by  some  most  villanous  knave, 

Some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  fellow. 

O heaven,  that  such  companions  thou’ldst  unfold, 

And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a whip 


F SCENE  II.] 


Othello. 


65 


TTo  lash  the  rascals  naked  through  the  world 
'Even  from  the  east  to  the  we'Stl 

Iago.  Spfeak  within  door. 

lEmil.  O,  fie  upon  them ! Some  such  squire  he  wa£ 

That  turn’d  your  wit  the  seamy  side  without; 

And  made  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  Moor: 

Iago..  You  are  a fool ; go  to. 

Des.  O good  Iago, 

What  shall  I do  to  win  my  lord  again? 

Good  friend,  go  to  him;  for,  by  this  light  of  heaven,  150 
I know  not  how  I lost  him.  Here  I kneel: 

If  e’er  my  will  did  trespass  ’gainst  his  love, 

Either  in  discourse  of  thought  or  actual  deed, 

Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense, 

Delighted  them  in  any  other  form; 

* Or  that  I do  not  yet,  and  ever  did, 

,And  ever  will — though  he  do  shake  me  off 
'To  beggarly  divorcement — love  him  dearly, 

(Comfort  forswear  me!  Unkindness  may  do  much: 

And  his  unkindness  may  defeat  my  life,  160 

Rut  never  taint  my  love.  I cannot  say  “ whore:” 

It  doth  abhor  me  now  I speak  the  word; 

To  do  the  act  that  might  the  addition  earn 
Not  the  world’s  mass  of  vanity  could  make  me. 

Iago.  I pray  you,  be  content;  ’tis  but  his  humour: 

The  business  of  the  state  does  him  offence, 

And  he  does  chide  with  you. 
j Des.  If  ’twere  no  other, — 

Iago.  ’Tis  but  so,  I warrant. 

[ Trumpets  within. 

mark*  how  these  instruments  summon  to  supper! 

The  messengers  of  Venice  stay  the  meat:  170 

do  ip,  -and  weep  not;  all  things  shall  be  well. 

\Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia . 

Enter  Roderigo. 

How  now,  Roderigo ! 

Rod  I do  not  find  that  thou  dealest  justly  with  me. 
Iago.  What  in  the  contrary? 

Rod.  Every  day  thou  daffest  me  with  some  device,  Iago ; 
and  rather,  as  it  seems  to  me  now,  keepest  from  me  all 
- conveniency  than  supplies!  me  with  the  least  advantage  of 
hope.  I will  indeed  no  longer  endure  it,  nor  am  I yet  per- 
•suadSd  to  put  up  in  peace  what  already  I have  foolishly 
^suffered. 

Iago.  Will  you  hear  me,  Roderigo? 


66  OTHELLO.  [act  iv. 

Rod.  ’Faith,  I have  heard  too  much,  for  your  words 
and  performances  are  no  kin  together. 

Iago.  You  charge  me  most  unjustly. 

Rod.  With  nought  but  truth.  I have  wasted  myself  out 
of  my  means.  The  jewels  you  have  had  from  me  to 
deliver  to  Desdemona  would  half  have  corrupted  a votarist: 
you  have  told  me  she  hath  received  them  and  returned 
me  expectations  and  comforts  of  sudden  respect  and  ac- 
quaintance, but  I find  none. 

Iago.  Well;  go  to;  very  well. 

Bod.  Very  well!  go  to!  I cannot  go  to,  man;  nor  ’tis  not 
very  well : nay,  I think  it  is  scurvy,  and  begin  to  find  my- 
self fobbed  in  it. 

Iago.  Very  well. 

Rod.  I tell  you  ’tis  not  very  well.  I will  make  myself 
known  to  Desdemona:  if  she  will  return  me  my  jewels,  I 
will  give  over  my  suit  and  repent  my  unlawful  solicitation; 
if  not,  assure  yourself  I will  seek  satisfaction  of  you. 

Iago.  You  have  said  now. 

Bod.  Ay,  and  said  nothing  but  what  I protest  intend- 
ment of  doing. 

Iago.  Why,  now  I see  there’s  mettle  in  thee,  and  even 
from  this  instant  do  build  on  thee  a better  opinion  than 
ever  before.  Give  me  thy  hand,  Roderigo:  thou  hast 
taken  against  me  a most  just  exception:  but  yet,  I protest, 
I have  dealt  most  directly  in  thy  affair. 

Rod.  It  hath  not  appeared. 

Iago.  I grant  indeed  it  hath  not  appeared,  and  your  sus- 
picion is  not  without  wit  and  judgement.  But,  Roderigo, 
if  thou  hast  that  in  thee  indeed,  which  I have  greater  rea- 
son to  believe  now  than  ever,  I mean  purpose,  courage  and 
valour,  this  night  show  it:  if  thou  the  next  night  following 
enjoy  not  Desdemona,  take  me  from  this  world  with 
treachery  and  devise  engines  for  my  life. 

Rod.  Well,  what  is  it?  is  it  within  reason  and  compass? 

Iago.  Sir,  there  is  especial  commission  come  from  Ven- 
ice to  depute  Cassio  in  Othello’s  plaee. 

Rod.  Is  that  trne?  why,  then  Othello  and  Desdemona 
return  again  to  Venice. 

Iago.  O,  no;  he  goes  into  Mauritania  and  takes  away 
with  him  the  fair  Desdemona,  unless  his  abode  be  lingered 
here  by  some  accident:  wherein  none  can  be  so  determin- 
ate as  the  removing  of  Cassio. 

Rod.  How  do  you  mean,  removing  of  him? 

Iago.  Why,  by  making  him  uncapable  of  Othello’s 
place;  knocking  out  his  brains. 

Rod.  And  that  you  would  have  me  to  do? 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


67 


Iago.  Ay,  if  you  dare  do  yourself  a profit  and  a right. 
He  sups  to-night  with  a harlotry,  and  thither  will  I go  to 
him:  he  knows  not  yet  of  his  honourable  fortune.  If  you 
will  watch  his  going  thence,  which  I will  fashion  to  fall 
out  between  twelve  and  one,  you  may  take  him  at  your 
pleasure:  I will  be  near  to  second  your  attempt,  and  he 
shall  fall  between  us.  Come,  stand  not  amazed  at  it,  but 
go  along  with  me;  I will  show  you  such  a necessity  in  his 
death  that  you  shall  think  yourself  bound  to  put  it  on  him. 
It  is  now  high  supper-time,  and  the  night  grows  to  waste : 
about  it.  250 

Rod.  I will  hear  further  reason  for  this. 

Iago.  And  you  shall  be  satisfied.  [ Exeunt . 


Scene  III.  Another  room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  At- 
tendants. 

Lod.  I do  beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  yourself  no  further. 
Oth.  O,  pardon  me ; ’twill  do  me  good  to  walk. 

Lod.  Madam,  good  night;  I humbly  thank  your  lady- 
ship. 

Des.  Your  honour  is  most  welcome. 

Oth.  Will  you  walk,  sir? 

O, — Desdemona,  — 

Des.  My  lord  ? 

Oth.  Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant;  I will  be  returned 
forthwith:  dismiss  your  attendant  there:  look  it  be  done. 
Des.  I will,  my  lord.  10 

[ Exeunt  Othello , Lodovico , and  Attendants. 
Emil.  How  goes  it  now?  he  looks  gentler  than  he  did. 
Des.  He  says  he  will  return  incontinent : 

He  hath  commandeth  me  to  go  to  bed, 

And  bade  me  to  dismiss  you. 

Emil.  Dismiss  me! 

Des.  It  was  his  bidding;  therefore,  good  Emilia, 

Give  me  my  nightly  wearing,  and  adieu: 

We  must  not  now  displease  him. 

Emil.  I would  you  had  never  seen  him! 

Des.  So  would  not  I:  my  love  doth  so  approve  him, 

That  even  his  stubbornness,  his  checks,  his  frowns, — 20 

Prithee,  unpin  me, — have  grace  and  favour  in  them. 

Emil.  I have  laid  those  sheets  you  bade  me  on  the  bed. 
Des.  All’s  one.  Good  faith,  how  foolish  are  our  minds] 
If  I do  die  before  thee,  prithee,  shroud  me, 

In  one  of  those  same  sheets, 


68 


OTHELLO. 


[act  rv\ 


Emil.  Come,  come,  you  talk. 

Des.  My  mother  liad  a maid  call’d  Barbara: 

She  was  in  love,  and  he  she  loved  proved  mad 
And  did  forsake  her:  she  had  a song  of  “willow;” 

An  old  thing  ’twas,  but  it  express’d  her  fortune, 

And  she  died  singing  it:  that  song  to-night  30 ' 

Will  not  go  from  my  mind;  I have  much  to  do, 

But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 

And  sing  it  like  poor  Barbara.  Prithee,  dispatch. 

Emil.  Shall  I go  fetch  your  night-gown? 

Des.  No,  unpin  me  here. 

This  Lodovico  is  a proper  man. 

Emil.  A very  handsome  man. 

Des.  He  speaks  well. 

Emil . I know  a lady  in  Venice  would  have  walked  bare- 
foot  to  Palestine  for  a touch  of  his  nether  lip.  40 

Des.  [Singing]  The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a syce  more 
tree, 

Sing  all  a green  willow; 

Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee, 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow : 

The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmur’d  her 
moans ; 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow; 

Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her,  and  soften’d  the  stones; — 
Lay  by  these : — 

[Singing]  Sing  willow,  willow,  willow; 

Prithee,  hie  thee;  lie’ll  come  anon: — 50 

[Singing]  Sing  all  a green  willow  must  be  my  garland. 

Let  nobody  blame  him;  his  scorn  I approve, — 

Nay,  that’s  not  next. — Hark!  who  is’t  that  knocks? 

Emil.  It’s  the  wind. 

Des.  [Singing]  I call’d  my  love  false  love ; but  what  said 
he  then? 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow: 

If  I court  moe  women,  you’ll  couch  with  moe  men. — 
So,  get  thee  gone ; good  night.  Mine  eyes  do  itch ; 

Doth  that  bode  weeping? 

Emil.  ’Tis  neither  here  nor  there. 

Des.  I have  heard  it  said  so.  O,  these  men,  these  men! 
Dost  thou  in  conscience  think,— tell  me,  Emilia, — 61 

That  there  be  women  do  abuse  their  husbands. 

In  such  gross  kind? 

Emil.  There  be  some  such,  no  question. 

Des.  Wouldst  thou  do  such  a deed  for  all  the  world? 
Emil.  Why,  would  you  not? 

Des,  v No,  by  this  heavenly  light! 


SCENE  III.] 


OTHELLO. 


09 


Emil.  Nor  I neither  by  this  heavenly  light; 

I might  do’t  as  well  i’  the  dark. 

Des.  Wouldstthou  do  such  a deed  for  all  the  world? 

Emil.  The  world’s  a huge  thing:  it  is  a great  price 
For  a small  vice. 

Des.  In  troth,  I think  thou  wouldst  not.  70 

Emil.  In  troth,  I think  I should;  and  undo’t  when  I had 
done.  Marry,  I would  not  do  such  a thing  for  a joint-ring, 
nor  for  measures  of  lawn,  now  for  gowns,  petticoats,  nor 
caps,  nor  any  petty  exhibition;  but,  for  the  whole  world, — 
why,  who  would  not  make  her  husband  a cuckold  to  make 
him  a monarch?  I should  venture  purgatory  for’t. 

Des.  Beshrew  me,  if  I would  do  such  a wrong 
For  the  whole  word.  79 

Emil.  Why,  the  wrong  is  but  a wrong  i’  the  world ; and 
having  the  world  for  your  labour,  ’tis  a wrong  in  your  own 
world,  and  you  might  quickly  make  it  right. 

Des.  I do  not  think  there  is  any  such  woman. 

Emil.  Yes,  a dozen;  and  as  many  to  the  vantage  as  would 
store  the  world  they  played  for. 

But  I do  think  it  is  their  husbands'  faults 
If  wives  do  fall:  say  that  they  slack  their  duties, 

And  pour  our  treasures  into  foreign  laps, 

Or  else  break  out  in  peevish  jealousies,  90 

Throwing  restraint  upon  us;  or  say  they  strike  us, 

Or  scant  our  former  having  in  despite; 

Why,  we  have  galls,  and  though  we  have  some  grace, 

Yet  have  we  some  revenge.  Let  husbands  know 
Their  wives  have  sense  like  them:  they  see  and  smell 
And  have  their  palates  both  for  sweet  and  sour, 

As  husbands  have.  What  is  it  that  they  do 
When  they  change  us  for  others?  Is  it  sport? 

I think  it  is:  and  doth  affection  breed  it? 

I think  it  doth:  is’t  frailty  that  thus  errs?  100 

It  is  so  too:  and  have  not  we  affections, 

Desires  for  sport,  and  frailty,  as  men  have? 

Then  let  them  use  us  well:  else  let  them  know, 

The  ills  we  do,  their  ills  instruct  us  so. 

Des.  Good  night,  good  night:  heaven  me  such  uses  send, 
Not  to  pick  bad  from  bad,  but  by  bad  mend!  [ Exeunt , 


70 


OTHELLO. 


[act  v. 


ACT  Y. 

Scene  I.  Cyprus.  A street . 

Enter  Iago  and  Roderigo. 

Iago.  Here,  stand  behind  this  bulk;  straight  will  he 
come: 

Wear  thy  good  rapier  bare,  and  put  it  home: 

Quick,  quick;  fear  nothing;  I’ll  be  at  thy  elbow: 

It  makes  us,  or  it  mars  us;  think  on  that, 

And  fix  most  firm  thy  resolution. 

Bod.  Be  near  at  hand ; I may  miscarry  in’t. 

Iago.  Here,  at  thy  hand:  be  bold,  and  take  thy  stand. 

[Retires. 

Bod.  I have  no  great  devotion  to  the  deed; 

And  yet  he  hath  given  me  satisfying  reasons: 

’Tis  but  a man  gone.  Forth,  my  sword:  he  dies.  10 
Iago.  I have  rubb’d  this  young  quat  almost  to  the  sense, 
And  he  grows  angry.  Now,  whether  he  kill  Cassio, 

Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other, 

Every  way  makes  my  gain : live  Roderigo, 

He  calls  me  to  a restitution  large 

Of  gold  and  jewels  that  I bobb’d  from  him, 

As  gifts  to  Desdemona; 

It  must  not  be : if  Cassio  do  remain, 

He  hath  a daily  beauty  in  his  life 

That  makes  me  ugly;  and,  besides,  the  Moor  20 

May  unfold  me  to  him;  there  stand  I in  much  peril: 

No,  he  must  die.  But  so:  I hear  him  coming. 

Enter  Cassio. 

Bod.  I know  his  gait,  ’tis  he. — Villain,  thou  diest! 

[Makes  a pass  at  Cassio. 

Cas.  That  thrust  had  been  mine  enemy  indeed, 

But  that  my  coat  is  better  than  thou  know’st: 

I will  make  proof  of  thine.  [Draws,  and  wounds  Boderigo. 
Bod.  0,1  am  slain! 

[Iago  from  'behind  wounds  Cassio  in  the  leg , and  exit. 
Cas.  Iam  maim’d  for  ever.  Help,  ho!  murder!  murder! 

[ Falls 

Enter  Othello. 

Oth.  The  voice  of  Cassio:  Iago  keeps  his  word. 

Bod.  0,  villain  that  I am! 

Oth.  It  is  even  so. 

Gas , 0,  help,  ho!  light!  a surgeon! 


30 


OTHELLO* 


71 


wnm  i.] 

Oth.  *Tis  he: — 0 brave  Iago,  honest  and  just, 

That  hath  such  noble  sense  of  thy  friend’s  wrong! 

Thou  teachest  me.  Minion,  your  dear  lies  dead, 

And  your  unblest  fate  hies:  strumpet,  I come. 

Forth  of  my  heart  those  charms,  thine  eyes,  are  blotted ; 
Thy  bed,  lust-stain’d,  shall  with  lust’s  blood  be  spotted. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Lodovico  and  Gratiano. 

Cas.  What,  ho!  no  watch?  no  passage?  murder!  murder! 
Ora.  ’Tis  some  mischance;  the  cry  is  very  direful. 

Cas.  O,  help! 

Lod.  Hark ! 40 

Bod.  O wretched  villain! 

Lod.  Two  or  three  groan : it  is  a heavy  night : 

These  may  be  counterfeits  : let’s  think’t  unsafe 
To  come  in  to  the  cry  without  more  help. 

Bod.  Nobody  come?  then  shall  I bleed  to  death. 

Lod.  Hark! 

Be-enter  Iago,  with  a light. 

Gra.  Here’s  one  comes  in  his  shirt,  with  light  and 
weapons. 

Iago.  Who’s  there?  whose  noise  is  this  that  cries  on  mur- 
der? 

Lod.  We  do  not  know. 

Iago.  Did  not  you  hear  a cry? 

Cas.  Here,  here!  for  heaven’s  sake,  help  me? 

Iago.  What’s  the  matter?  50 

Gra.  This  is  Othello’s  ancient,  as  I take  it. 

Lod.  The  same  indeed;  a very  valiant  fellow. 

Iago.  What  are  you  here  that  cry  so  grievously? 

Cas.  Iago?  O,  I am  spoil’d,  undone  by  villains! 

Give  me  some  help. 

Iago.  O me,  lieutenant!  what  villains  hate  done  this? 
Cas.  I think  that  one  of  them  is  hereabout, 

And  cannot  make  away. 

Iago.  O treacherous  villains! 

What  are  you  there?  come  in,  and  give  some  help. 

\To  Lodotico  and  Gratiano. 
Bod.  O,  help  me  here!  60 

Cas.  That’s  one  of  them. 

Iago.  0 murderous  slave!  O villain! 

[Stabs  Boderigo. 

Bod.  O damn’d  Iago!  O inhuman  dog! 

Iago.  Kill  men  i’  the  dark! — Where  be  these  bloody 
thieves? — 


O’THELLO. 


[act  V, 


w 

How  silent  is  this  town! — Ho!  murder!  murder! — 

What  may  you  be?  are  you  of  good  or  evil? 

Lod.  As  you  shall  prove  us,  praise  us. 
lago.  Signior  Lodovico? 

Lod.  He,  sir. 

Iago.  I cry  you  mercy.  Here’s  Cassio  hurt  by  villains. 
Ora . Cassio!  70 

Iago.  How  is’t,  brother! 

Cas.  My  leg  is  cut  in  two. 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid! 

Light,  gentlemen:  I’ll  bind  it  with  my  shirt.  \ 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  What  is  the  matter,  ho?  who  is’t  that  cried? 

Iago.  Who  is’t  that  cried ! 

Bian.  O my  dear  Cassio ! my  sweet  Cassio ! 

O Cassio,  Cassio,  Cassio! 

Iago.  O notable  strumpet!  Cassio,  may  you  suspect 
Who  they  should  be  that  have  thus  mangled  you? 

Cas.  Ho.  80 

Gra.  I am  sorry  to  find  you  thus:  I have  been  to  seek 
you. 

Iago.  Lend  me  a garter.  So.  O,  for  a chair, 

To  bear  him  easily  hence! 

Bian.  Alas,  he  faints!  O Cassio,  Cassio,  Cassio! 

Iago.  Gentlemen  all,  I do  suspect  this  trash 
To  be  a party  in  this  injury. 

Patience  awhile,  good  Cassio.  Come,  come; 

Lend  me  a light.  Know  we  this  face  or  no? 

Alas,  my  friend  and  my  dear  countryman 
Roderigo!  no: — yes,  sure: — O heaven!  Roderigo.  00 
Gra.  What,  of  Venice? 

Iago.  Even  he,  sir  : did  you  know  him? 

Gra.  Know  him!  ay. 

Iago.  Signior  Gratiano?  I cry  you  gentle  pardon ; 

These  bloody  accidents  must  excuse  my  maimers, 

That  so  neglected  you. 

. Gra.  I am  glad  to  see  you. 

Iago.  How  do  you,  Cassio?  O,  a chair,  a chair! 

Gra.  Roderigo! 

Iago.  He,  he,  ’tis  he.  [A  chair  brought  in .]  0,  that’s  well 
said;  the  chair.  v 

Some  good  man  bear  him  carefully  from  hence; 

I’ll  fetch  the  general’s  surgeon.  [To  Bianca]  For  you,  mis- 
tress, 100 

Save  you  your  labour.  He  that  lies  slain  here,  Cassio, 

Was  my  dear  friend:  what  malice  was  between  you? 


SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


73 


Gas.  None  in  the  world;  nor  do  I know  the  man. 

Iago.  [To  Bian .]  What,  look  you  pale?  0,  bear  him  out 
o’  the  air.  [ Gassio  and  Roderigo  are  borne  off. 

Stay  you,  good  gentlemen.  Look  you  pale,  mistress? 

Do  you  perceive  the  gastness  of  her  eye? 

Nay,  if  you  stare,  we  shall  hear  more  anon. 

Behold  her  well;  I pray  you,  look  upon  her: 

Do  you  see,  gentlemen?  nay,  guiltiness  will  speak, 

Though  tongues  were  out  of  use.  liO 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emil.  ’Las,  what’s  the  matter?  what’s  the  matter,  hus- 
band? 

Iago.  Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark 
By  Roderigo  and  fellows  that  are  scaped: 

He’s  almost  slain,  and  Roderigo  dead. 

Emil.  Alas,  good  gentleman!  alas,  good  Cassio! 

Iago.  This  is  the  fruit  of  whoring.  Prithee,  Emilia, 

Go  know  of  Cassio  where  he  supp’d  to-night. 

[To  Bianca ] What,  do  you  shake  at  that? 

Bian.  He  supp’d  at  my  house;  but  I therefore  shake  not. 
Iago.  O,  did  he  so?  I charge  you,  go  with  me.  120 
Emil.  Fie,  fie  upon  thee,  strumpet! 

Bian.  I am  no  strumpet;  but  of  life  as  honest 
As  you  that  thus  abuse  me. 

Emil.  As  I!  foh!  fie  upon  thee! 

Iago.  Kind  gentlemen,  let’s  go  see  poor  Cassio  dress’d. 
Come,  mistress,  you  must  tell’s  another  tale. 

Emilia,  run  you  to  the  citadel, 

And  tell  my  lord  and  lady  what  hath  happ’d. 

Will  you  go  on?  I pray.  [. Aside ] This  is  the  night 
That  either  makes  me  or  fordoes  me  quite.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.  A bedchamber  in  the  castle ; Desdemona  in  bed 
asleep;  a light  burning. 

Enter  Othello. 

Oth.  It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, — 

Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars! — 

It  is  the  cause.  Yet  I’ll  not  shed  her  blood; 

Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 

And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 

Yet  she  must  die,  else  she’ll  betray  more  men. 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light: 

If  I quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 

I can  again  thy  former  light  restore, 


74  OTHELLO.  [act  V. 

Should  I repent  me  *.  but  once  put  out  thy  light,  10 

Thou  cunning’st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 

I know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat 

That  can  thy  light  relume.  When  I have  pluck’d  the  rose, 

I cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 

It  must  needs  wither;  I’ll  smell  it  on  the  tree. 

[Kissing  Tier. 

Ah,  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword!  One  more,  one  more. 

Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I will  kill  thee, 

And  love  thee  after.  One  more,  and  this  the  last: 

So  sweet  was  ne’er  so  fatal.  I must  vreep,  20 

But  they  are  cruel  tears:  this  sorrow’s  heavenly; 

It  strikes  where  it  doth  love.  She  wakes. 

Des.  Who’s  there?  Othello? 

Oth.  Ay,  Desdemona. 

Des.  Will  you  come  to  bed,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Have  you  pray’d  to-night,  Desdemona? 

Des.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Oth.  If  you  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime 
Unreconciled  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace, 

Solicit  for  it  straight. 

Des.  Alas,  my  lord,  what  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Oth.  Well,  do  it,  and  be  brief;  I will  walk  by:  30 

I would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit; 

No;  heaven  forfend!  I would  not  kill  thy  soul. 

Des.  Talk  you  of  killing? 

Oth.  Ay,  I do. 

Des.  Then  heaven 

Have  mercy  on  me ! 

Oth.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart! 

Des.  If  you  say  so,  I hope  you  will  not  kill  me. 

Oth.  Hum! 

Des.  And  yet  I fear  you;  for  you  are  fatal  then 
When  your  eyes  roll  so:  why  I should  fear  I know  not, 
Since  guiltiness  I know  not;  but  yet  I feel  I fear. 

Oth.  Think  on  thy  sins. 

Des.  They  are  loves  I bear  to  you.  40 

Oth.  Ay,  and  for  that  thou  diest. 

Des.  That  death’s  unnatural  that  kills  for  loving.  * 

Alas,  wrhy  gnaw  you  so  your  nether  lip? 

Some  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame: 

These  are  portents;  but  yet  I hope,  I hope, 

They  do  not  point  on  me. 

Oth.  Peace,  and  be  still! 

Des.  I will  so.  What’s  the  matter? 


* SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


75 


Otli.  That  handkerchief  which  I so  loved  and  gave  thee 
Thou  gavest  to  Cassio. 

Des.  No,  by  my  life  and  soul! 

Send  for  the  man,  and  ask  him. 

Oth.  Sweet  soul,  take  heed,  50 

Take  heed  of  perjury;  thou  art  on  thy  death-bed. 

Des.  Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die. 

Oth.  Yes,  presently: 

Therefore  confess  thee  freely  of  thy  sin ; 

For  to  deny  each  article  with  oath 

Cannot  remove  nor  choke  the  strong  conception 

That  I do  groan  withal.  Thou  art  to  die. 

Des.  Then  Lord  have  mercy  on  me ! 

Oth.  I say,  amen. 

Des.  And  have  you  mercy  too ! I never  did 
Offend  you  in  my  life:  never  loved  Cassio 
But  with  such  general  warranty  of  heaven  60 

As  I might  love;  I never  gave  him  token. 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I saw  my  handkerchief  in’s  hand. 

0 perjured  woman ! thou  dost  stone  my  heart, 

And  makest  me  call  what  I intend  to  do 

A murder,  which  I thought  a sacrifice: 

1 saw  the  handkerchief. 

Des.  He  found  it  then; 

I never  gave  it  him:  send  for  him  hither; 

Let  him  confess  a truth. 

Oth.  He  hath  confess’d. 

Des.  What,  my  lord? 

Oth.  That  he  hath  used  thee. 

Des.  How?  unlawfully? 

Oth.  Ay.  70 

Des.  He  will  not  say  so. 

Oth.  No,  his  mouth  is  stopp’d; 

Honest  Iago  hath  ta’en  order  for’t. 

Des.  Oh!  my  fear  interprets:  w^hat,  is  he  dead? 

Oth.  Had  all  his  hairs  been  lives,  my  great  revenge 
Had  stomach  for  them  all. 

Des.  Alas!  he  is  betray’d  and  I undone. 

Oth.  Out,  strumpet!  weep’st  thou  for  him  to  my  face? 
Des.  O,  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not! 

Oth.  Down,  strumpet! 

Des.  Kill  me  to-morrow:  let  me  live  to-night!  80 

Oth.  Nay,  if  you  strive, — 

Des.  But  half  an  hour! 

Oth.  Being  done,  there  is  no  pause. 

Des.  But  while  I say  one  prayer ! 


OTHELLO. 


[act?  V. 


76 


Oth . It  is  too  late. 

[He  stifles  Tier . 

Emil.  [ Within ] My  lord,  my  lord  I what,  hoi  my  lord, 
my  lord! 

Oth . What  noise  is  this?  Hot  dead?  not  yet  quite  dead? 
I that  am  cruel  am  yet  merciful ; 

I would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain: 

So,  so. 

Emil.  [ Within]  What,  ho:  my  lord,  my  lord! 

Oth.  Who’s  there? 

Emil.  [ Within]  0,  good  my  lord,  I would  speak  a word 
with  you ! 90 

Oth.  Yes:  ’tis  Emilia.  By  and  by.  She’s  dead. 

’Tis  like  she  comes  to  speak  of  Cassio’s  death. — 

The  noise  was  here.  Ha!  no  more  moving? 

Still  as  the  grave.  Shall  she  come  in?  were’t  good? — 

I think  she  stirs  again: — no.  What’s  best  to  do? 

If  she  come  in,  she’ll  sure  speak  to  my  wife: 

My  wife!  my  wife!  what  wife?  I have  no  wife: 

O,  insupportable!  O heavy  hour! 

Methinks  it  should  be  now  a huge  eclipse 
Of  sun  and  moon,  and  that  the  affrighted  globe 
Should  yawn  at  alteration.  100 

Emil.  [ Within]  I do  beseech  you 

That  I may  speak  with  you,  O,  good  my  lord ! 

Oth.  I had  forgot  thee:  O,  come  in,  Emilia: 

Soft;  by  and  by.  Let  me  the  curtains  draw. 

Where  art  thou?  [Unlocks  the  door. 

Enter  Emilia. 

What’s  the  matter  with  thee  now? 

Emil.  O,  my  good  lord,  yonder’s  foul  murders  done! 

Oth.  What,  now? 

Emil.  But  now,  my  lord. 

Oth.  It  is  the  very  error  of  the  moon; 

She  comes  more  nearer  earth  than  the  was  wont,  110 
And  makes  men  mad. 

Emil.  Cassio,  my  lord,  hath  kill’d  a young  Venetian 
Called  Roderigo. 

Oth.  Roderigo  kill’d! 

And  Cassio  kill’d ! 

Emil.  Ho,  Cassio  is  not  kill’d. 

Oth.  Hot  Cassio  kill’d!  then  murder’s  out  of  tune, 

And  sweet  revenge  grows  harsh. 

Des.  O,  falsely,  falsely  murder’d! 

Emil.  Alas,  what  cry  is  that? 

Oth . That!  what?  i 


OTHELLO. 


77 


SCENTS  II.] 

Emil.  Out,  and  alas!  that  was  my  lady’s  voice. 

Help!  help,  ho!  help!  O lady,  speak  again!  120 

Sweet  Desdemona!  O sweet  mistress,  speak! 

Des.  A guiltless  death  I die. 

Emil.  0,  who  hath  done  this  deed? 

Des.  Nobody;  I myself.  Farewell:  commend  me  to  my 
kind  lord;  O,  farewell!  [Dies. 

Oth.  Why,  how  should  she  be  murder’d  ? 

Emil.  Alas,  who  knows? 

Oth.  You  heard  her  say  herself,  it  was  not  I. 

Emil.  She  said  so : I must  needs  report  the  truth. 

Oth.  She’s,  like  a liar,  gone  to  burning  hell : 

*Twas  I that  kill’d  her. 

Emil . O,  the  more  angel  she,  130 

And  you  the  blacker  devil! 

Oth.  She  turned  to  folly,  and  she  was  a whore. 

Emil.  Thou  dost  belie  her,  and  thou  art  a devil. 

Oth.  She  was  false  as  water. 

Emil . Thou  art  rash  as  fire,  to  say 

That  she  was  false:  O,  she  was  heavenly  true! 

Oth.  Cassio  did  top  her;  ask  thy  husband  else. 

O,  I were  damn’d  beneath  all  depth  in  hell, 

But  that  I did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity.  Thy  husband  knew  it  all. 

Emil.  My  husband ! 140 

Oth.  Thy  husband. 

Emil.  That  she  was  false  to  wedlock  ? 

Oth.  Ay,  with  Cassio.  Nay,  had  she  been  true, 

If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite. 

Fid  not  have  sold  her  for  it. 

Emil.  My  husband! 

Oth.  Ay,  ’twas  he  that  told  me  first: 

An  honest  man  he  is,  and  hates  the  slime 
That  sticks  on  filthy  deeds. 

Emil.  My  husband ! 

Oth.  What  needs  this  iteration,  woman?  I say  thy  hus- 
band. 150 

Emil.  O mistress,  villany  hath  made  mocks  with  love! 
My  husband  say  that  she  was  false ! 

Oth.  He,  woman; 

I say  thy  husband:  dost  understand  the  word? 

My  friend,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  Iago. 

Emil.  If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 
Hot  half  a grain  a day!  he  lies  to  the  heart: 

She  was  too  fond  of  her  most  filthy  bargain. 

Oth . Ha! 


/ 


78 


OTHELLO. 


[act 


Emil.  Do  thy  worst: 

This  deed  of  thine  is  no  more  worthy  heaven  160 

That  thou  wast  worthy  her. 

Oth.  Peace,  you  were  best. 

Emil.  Thou  hast  not  half  that  power  to  do  me  harm 
As  I have  to  be  hurt.  O gull ! O dolt ! 

As  ignorant  as  dirt ! thou  hast  done  a deed — 

I care  not  for  thy  sword ; I’ll  make  thee  known, 

Though  I lost  twenty  lives. — Help!  help,  ho!  help! 

The  Moor  hath  kill’d  my  mistress!  Murder!  murder l 

Enter  Montano,  Gratiano,  Iago,  and  others . 

Mon.  What  is  the  matter?  How  now,  general! 

Emil.  O,  are  you  come,  Iago?  you  have  done  well, 

That  men  must  "lay  their  murders  on  your  neck.  170 

Gra.  What  is  the  matter? 

Emil.  Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be’st  a man: 

He  says  thou  told’st  him  that  his  wife  was  false: 

I know  thou  didst  not,  thou’rt  not  such  a villain: 

Speak,  for  my  heart  is  full, 

Iago.  I told  him  wliat  I thought,  and  told  no  more 
Than  what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true. 

Emil.  But  did  you  ever  tell  him  she  wTas  false? 

Iago.  I did. 

Emil.  You  told  a lie;  an  odious,  damned  lie;  180 

Upon  my  soul,  a lie,  a wicked  lie. 

She  false  with  Cassio! — did  you  say  with  Cassio? 

Iago.  With  Cassio,  mistress.  Go  to,  charm  your  tongue. 
Emil.  I will  not  charm  my  tongue;  I am  bound  to  speak: 
My  mistress  here  lies  murder’d  in  her  bed, — 

All.  O heavens  f orfend ! 

Emil.  And  your  reports  have  set  the  murder  on. 

Oth.  Nay,  stare  not,  masters:  it  is  true,  indeed. 

Gra.  ’Tis  a strange  truth, 

Mon.  O monstrous  act! 

Emil.  Villany,  villanv,  villany!  190 

I think  upon’t,  I think:  I smell’t:  O villany! — 

I thought  so  then: — I’ll  kill  myself  for  grief: — 

O villany,  villany! 

Iago.  What,  are  you  mad?  I charge  you,  get  you  home. 
Emil.  Good  gentlemen,  let  me  have  leave  to  speak: 

’Tis  proper  I obey  him,  but  not  now. 

Perchance,  Iago,  I will  ne’er  go  home. 

Oth.  O!  O!  O!  [He  falls  on  the  bed. 

Emil.  Nay,  lay  thee  down  and  roar; 

For  thou  hast  kill’d  the  sweetest  innocent 
That  e’er  did  lift  up  eve. 


SCENE  II.] 

OTHELLO. 

70 

Oth. 

[Rising]  0,  she  was  foul ! 

200 

I scarce  did  know  you,  uncle : there  lies  your  niece, 

Whose  breath,  indeed,  these  hands  have  newly  stopp’d: 

I know  this  act  shows  horrible  and  grim. 

Gra.  Poor  Desdemona!  I am  glad  thy  father’s  dead: 
Thy  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain:  did  he  live  now. 

This  sight  would  make  him  do  a desperate  turn. 

Yea,  curse  his  better  angel  from  his  side, 

And  fall  to  reprobation. 

Oth.  ’Tis  pitiful ; but  yet  Iago  knows  210 

That  she  with  Cassio  hath  the  act  of  shame 
A thousand  times  committed;  Cassio  confess’d  it; 

And  she  did  gratify  his  amorous  works 
With  that  recognizance  and  pledge  of  love 
Which  I first  gave  her;  I saw  it  in  his  hand: 

It  was  a handkerchief,  an  antique  token 
My  father  gave  my  mother. 

Emil.  O heaven!  O heavenly  powers! 

Iago.  Come,  hold  your  peace. 

Emil.  ’Twill  out,  ’twill  out:  I peace! 

No,  I will  speak  as  liberal  as  the  north:  220 

Let  heaven  and  men  and  devils,  let  them  all, 

All,  all,  cry  shame  against  me,  yet  I’ll  speak. 

Iago.  Be  wise,  and  get  you  home. 

Emil.  I will  not. 

[Iago  offers  to  stab  Emilia. 
Gra.  Fie ! 

Your  sword  upon  a woman? 

Emil.  O thou  dull  Moor!  that  handkerchief  thou  speak’st 
of 

I found  by  fortune  and  did  give  my  husband; 

For  often,  with  a solemn  earnestness, 

More  than  indeed  belong’d  to  such  a trifle, 

He  begg’d  of  me  to  steal  it. 

Iago.  Villanous  whore!  229 

Emil.  She  give  it  Cassio ! no,  alas ! I found  it, 

And  I did  give’t  my  husband. 

Iago.  Filth,  thou  liest ! 

Emil.  By  heaven,  I do  not,  I do  not,  gentlemen. 

O murderous  coxcomb ! what  should  such  a fool 
Do  with  so  good  a woman? 

Oth.  Are  there  no  stones  in  heaven 

But  what  serve  for  the  thunder? — Precious  villain : 

[He  runs  at  Iago:  Iago,  from  behind,  stabs  Emelia,  and 

exit. 

Gra.  The  woman  falls;  sure,  he  hath  kill’d  his  wife. 


80 


OTHELLO, 


[act  Y 4 


Emil.  Ay,  ay:  0,  lay  me  by  my  mistress ’ side. 

Gra.  He’s  gone,  but  his  wife’s  kill’d. 

Mon.  ’Tis  a notorious  villain.  Take  you  this  weapon, 
Which  I have  here  recover’d  from  the  Moor:  240 

Come,  guard  the  door  without;  let  him  not  pass, 

But  kill  him  rather.  I’ll  after  that  same  villain, 

For  ’tis  a damned  slave.  \ Exeunt  Montano  and  Gratiano. 

Oth.  I am  not  valiant  neither, 

But  every  puny  whipster  gets  my  sword : 

But  why  should  honour  outlive  honesty? 

Let  it  go  all. 

Emil.  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 

Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me?  I will  play  the  swan, 

And  die  in  music.  [Singing]  Willow,  willow,  willow. — 
Moor,  she  was  chaste;  she  loved  thee,  cruel  Moor; 

So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I speak  true;  250' 

So  speaking  as  I think,  I die,  I die.  [Dies.. 

Oth.  I have  another  weapon  in  this  chamber; 

It  is  a sword  of  Spain,  the  ice-brook’s  temper: — 

O,  here  it  is.  Uncle,  I must  come  forth. 

Gra.  [Within]  If  thou  attempt  it,  it  will  cost  thee  dear; 
Thou  hast  no  weapon,  and  perforce  must  suffer. 

Oth.  Look  in  upon  me  then  and  speak  with  me, 

Or,  naked  as  I am,  I will  assault  thee. 

Re-enter  Gratiano. 

✓ Gra.  What  is  the  matter? 

Oth.  Behold,  I have  a weapon ; 

A better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a soldier’s  thigh : I have  seen  the  day, 

That,  with  this  little  arm  and  this  good  sword, 

I have  made  my  way  through  more  impediments 
Than  twenty  times  your  stop:  but,  O vain  boast! 

Who  can  control  his  fate?  ’tis  not  so  now. 

Be  not  afraid,  though  you  do  see  me  weapon’d; 

Here  is  my  journey’s  end,  here  is  my  butt, 

And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 

Do  you  go  back  dismay’d?  ’tis  a lost  fear; 

Man  but  a rush  against  Othello’s  breast. 

And  he  retires.  Where  should  Othello  go? 

Now,  how  dost  thou  look  now?  O ill-starr’d  wench! 

Pale  as  thy  smock!  when  Ave  shall  meet  at  compt, 

This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 

And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it.  Cold,  cold,  my  girl! 

Even  like  thy  chastity.  O cursed  slave! 

Whip  me,  ye  devils, 

From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight ! 


260 


270 


6CENE  II.  ] 


OTHELLO. 


81 


Blow  me  about  in  winds!  roast  me  in  sulphur  1 

Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire!  280 

O Desdemona!  Desdemona!  dead! 

Oh!  Oh!  Oh! 

Enter  Lodovico,  Montano,  Cassio  carried  in  a chair , and 
Officers  with  I ago,  prisoner. 

Lod.  Where  is  this  rash  and  most  unfortunate  man? 

Oth . That’s  he  that  was  Othello:  here  I am. 

Lod.  Where  is  that  viper?  bring  the  villain  forth. 

Oth.  I look  down  towards  his  feet;  but  that’s  a fable. 

If  that  thou  be’st  a devil,  I cannot  kill  tliee.  [ Wounds  Iago. 
Lod.  Wrench  his  sword  from  him. 

Iago.  I bleed,  sir;  but  not  kill’d. 

Oth.  I am  not  sorry  neither:  X’ld  have  thee  live; 

For,  in  my  sense,  ’tis  happiness  to  die.  2S0 

Lod.  O thou  Othello,  that  wert  once  so  good, 

Fall’n  in  the  practice  <5f  a damned  slave, 

What  shall  be  said  to  thee? 

Oth.  Why,  any  thing: 

An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will; 

For  nought  I did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour. 

Lod.  This  wretch  hath  part  confess’d  his  villany: 

Did  you  and  he  consent  in  Cassio’s  death? 

Oth.  Ay. 

Cas.  Dear  general,  I never  gave  you  cause. 

Oth.  I do  believe  it,  and  I ask  your  pardon.  BOO 

Will  you,  I pray,  demand  that  demi-devil 
Why  he  hath  thus  ensnared  my  soul  and  body? 

Iago.  Demand  me  nothing:  what  you  know,  you  know 
From  this  time  forth  I never  will  speak  word. 

Lod.  What,  not  to  pray? 

Ora.  Torments  will  ope  your  lips. 

Oth.  Well,  thou  dost  best. 

Lod.  Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befall’n, 
Which,  as  I think,  you  know  not.  Here  is  a letter 
Found  in  the  pocket  of  the  slain  Roderigo; 

And  here  another:  the  one  of  them  imports  BlO 

The  death  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo. 

Oth.  O villain ! 

Cas.  Most  heathenish  and  most  gross  1 

Lod.  Now  here’s  another  discontented  paper, 

Found  in  his  pocket  too;  and  this,  it  seems, 

Roderigo  meant  to  have  sent  this  damned  villain ; 

But  that  belike  Iago  in  the  interim 
Came  in  and  satisfied  him. 

shak.  hi.— 17 


82 


OTHELLO, 


[act  V. 


Oth.  O the  pernicious  caitiff ! 

How  came  you,  Cassio,  by  that  handkerchief 
That  was  my  wife’s? 

Cas.  I found  it  in  my  chamber:  320 

And  he  himself  confess’d  but  even  now 
That  there  he  dropp’d  it  for  a special  purpose 
Which  wrought  to  his  desire. 

Oth.  Ofool!  fool!  fooll 

Cas.  There  is  besides  in  Roderigo’s  letter, 

How  he  upbraids  Iago,  that  he  made  him 
Brave  me  upon  the  watch;  whereon  it  came 
That  I was  cast:  and  even  but  now  he  spake, 

After  long  seeming  dead,  Iago  hurt  him, 

Iago  set  him  on. 

Lod.  You  must  forsake  this  room,  and  go  with  us:  330 
Your  power  and  your  command  is  taken  off, 

And  Cassio  rules  in  Cyprus.  For  this  slave, 

If  there  be  any  cunning  cruelty 

That  can  torment  him  much  and  hold  him  long, 

It  shall  be  his.  You  shall  close  prisoner  rest, 

Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  be  known 
To  the  Venetian  state.  Come,  bring  him  away. 

Oth.  Soft  you;  a word  or  two  before  you  go. 

I have  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know’t. 

Ho  more  of  that.  I pray  you,  in  your  letters,  340 

When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Speak  of  me  as  I am;  nothing  extenuate, 

Hor  set  down  aught  in  malice:  then  must  you  speak 
Of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well; 

Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought 
Perplex’d  in  the  extreme;  of  one  whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a pearl  away 

Richer  than  all  his  tribe;  of  one  whose  subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees  350 

Their  medicinal  gum.  Set  you  down  this; 

And  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once, 

Where  a malignant  and  a turban’d  Turk 
Beat  a Venetian  and  traduced  the  state, 

I took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog, 

And  smote  him,  thus.  [ Stabs  himself. 

Lod.  O bloody  period! 

Gra.  All  that’s  spoke  is  marr’d. 

Oth.  I kiss’d  thee  ere  I kill’d  thee:  no  way  but  this; 
Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a kiss. 

[Falls  on  the  bed,  and  dies , 


SCENE  II.] 


OTHELLO. 


83 


Gas.  This  did  I fear,  but  thought  he  had  no  weapon ; 
For  he  was  great  of  heart. 

Lod.  [To  Iago\  O Spartan  dog,  361 

More  fell  than  anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea! 

Look  on  the  tragic  loading  of  this  bed ; 

This  is  thy  work:  the  object  poisons  sight; 

Let  it  be  hid.  Gratiano,  keep  the  house, 

And  seize  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  Moor, 

For  they  succeed  on  you.  To  you,  lord  governor, 
Remains  the  censure  of  this  hellish  villain; 

The  time,  the  place,  the  torture:  O,  enforce  it! 

Myself  will  straight  abroad ; and  to  the  state  870 

This  heavy  act  with  heavy  heart  relate. 


' 


PUBLISHERS*  NOTICE, 


The  text  of  tliis  play  is  that  of  the  ‘'Globe  edition,” 
with  the  exception  that  in  passages  left  conjectural  by  the 
Globe  editors,  the  readings  from  the  text  of  Dyce’s  last 
edition  are  substitued.  The*  numbering  of  the  lines  is 
that  of  the  Globe  edition,  this  numbering  being  now  uni- 
versally accepted  as  the  most  convenient  means  of  refer- 
ence to  particular  passages. 


The  complete  works  of  Shakespeare  are  being  issued  in 
three  bound  volumes,  uniform  with  this  play  in  type  and 
size  of  page,  at  the  price  of  $1.50  in  cloth,  and  $3.00  in 
half  Russia,  gilt  top.  The  following  plays  are  being  issued 
in  separate  pamphlets,  price  three  cents  each  : 

The  Tempest.  ^ King  Henry  VHI. 


Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream. 


Romeo  and  Juliet. 


^✓The  Merchant  of  Venice. 


As  You  Like  It. 
King  John. 

King  Henry  V. 
King  Richard  HI 


^/Julius  Coesar. 
Macbeth. 
Hamlet. 

King  Lear. 


/ Othello. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 


= PARALLEL-EDITION.  = 


WILLIAM 

SHAKESPEARE. 


OTHELLO. 

BY 

ILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


0f6effo. 

U&erielst  »on 

%.  si.  V.  SdHfgel  U.  t 


Bevorwortet  mid  eingeleitet 


Prof.  Dr.  Karl  Sachs. 


LEIPZIG. 

Moritz  Schaefer. 

1884. 


PHILADELPHIA.  E.  SOLEFER  et  KORADI. 


= ENGLISH  and  GERMAN.  ==- 

M 5. 


4 


Englisch  und  Deutsch. 


tt>  i 1 1 1 sa  m 


THE  WORKS 

OF 

William  Shakespeare 

Translated  into  German 

by 

A.  W.  you  Schlegel. 


With  a preface  and  introductions 

by 

Charles  Sachs. 


M V.  0 T H E L L 0. 


ogxo 

LEIPZIG. 

MORITZ  SCHAFER,  PUBLISHER. 


PHILADELPHIA:  SCH/EFER  & KORADI. 


Pilliftm  Hakclptire’s 

jiberffM 

t>ott 

J\.  I!?,  poit  J>d?fecjef.  , 


^euoraortet  unb  cingcleitct 

OOlt 

"2frof.  Dr.  Jiiarf  g>ctc&s. 


M V.  Oft  f l|  v l ( <*♦ 


35 e r t a cj  »on  DJiorife  ©cfjiifcr. 


^Uabetyfjia:  Srfjafer  & &orabi. 


Othello. 


OTHELLO  is  the  drama  which  the  English  greatly 
appreciate  on  account  of  its  rather  simple  construc- 
tion, though  we  might  with  good  reasons  find  fault 
with  its  tragical  development.  There  is  a great  deal 
of  bitterness  in  the  final  destruction  of  the  good  and  the 
beautiful , but  much  less  of  the  moments  which  at 
the  same  time  raise  our  soul  and  relieve  it  from  pain, 
which  is  the  very  aim  and  object  of  the  tragic  art 
(Ulrici  360) , it  is  more  a drama  of  intrigues  than 
of  character.  Fantastical  love,  not  that  of  the  heart 
joins  Desdemona  and  Othello , the  warrior  in  the 
highest  meaning  of  the  word,  for  whom  honour  is 
the  fundament  of  his  being , who  knows  how  to 
love  as  a man  and  acts  as  a warmblooded  Moor. 
She  loves  him  „for  the  dangers  he  had  pass’d  (I.  3), 
while  he  lov’d  her  that  she  did  pity  them”.  Mainly 
force  and  full  matrimonial  tenderness , esteem  of 
each  other  and  fidelity  are  the  centre  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  intrigue  which  has  been  carried  on  with 
great  skill  and  does  not  merit  the  different  objections 
of  critics  who  yet  at  all  events  are  to  acknowledge  the 
wonderful  way  of  treating  the  different  characters  (see 
Rumelin  66,  Ulrici  360  [3  ed.  II.  30],  Kreyssig  II.  267, 
W.  Konig  in  the  Annual  X.  242;  for  a very  comical  expli- 
cation of  0.  you  may  read  Vischer  „Aucli  Eineru  [I.  96]). 

A 


© t ft  r l 1 o. 


C/-) 

©ttjello  ift  babfenige  ©tiicf,  melcfieb  bie  ©nglanber 
feiner  einfacfjen,  befonberb  flat  motioierten  Sionftruftion 
megett  gerabe  am  b)6d^ften  ftellen,  obmol)!  it)m  nid)t 
K^ofme  ©ruttb  Mangel  an  tragifdjer  $urc£)bilbung  unb 
®oflenbnng  oorgetoorfen  morben.  „®ab  £>erbe  unb 
Sittere  im  Untergange  beb  menfdEjlicf)  @d]bnen  unb 
s-  ©rofjen  betiauptet  b)ier  ein  entfdjiebeneb  Ubergemidft 
' iiber  bab  ©rlfebenbe  unb  58erfof)nenbe,  bab  jugleicf)  bent 
Sragifcfyen  eigen  fein  foil"  (Ulrici  360);  eb  ift  meljr  ein 
'Wxgntriguem  alb  ein  ©l;arafter=2rauerfpiel.  ®ie  Siebe 
• ' ber  ipijantafie,  unb  nur  in  jmeiter  Sinie  bie  beb  f?et= 
jenb,  oerbinbet  Dtlfello,  ben  Srieger  par  excellence,  fiir 
ben  ©tyre  bie  ©runblage  feineb  @ein§  auSma^t,  ber 
alb  9Kenfc^  ju  lieben  toeifj  unb  alb  Ijeiftbliitiger  SFcoljr 
fiiljlt  unb  Ifanbett  — mil  ®ebbemona , bie  ifyn  liebt, 
„»eil  er  ©efafpr  beftanb  (I.  3),  ttmlirenb  er  fie  liebt  unt 
if)re§  Sliitleibb  rnillen."  — 9XanulicE)e  ©tarle  unb  gillie 
ber  et)elicf)en  3artlid)feit , 21d)tnng  unb  Xreue  bilben 
ben  SDJittelpunft  ber  ©ntmicflung  unb  ber  fein  unb  fct»arf= 
finnig  bur<f)gefiil)rten  intrigue,  beren  3Jiotimerung  ^war 
non  9Serfd£)iebenen  getabelt  ift,  of)ne  aber  bie  grofjartige 
©baralteriftif  beftreiten  ju  lonnen  (v.  3tumelin  66  ff., 
Ulrici  360  [3.  eb.  II.  30],  tregfcig  11.  267  ff.,  2B.  ®onig 
im  gabrburf)  X.  242  ff.;  eine  ijolfift  fomifrfje  ©rflarung 
beb  0.  felje  man  bei  $ifd)er,  ^ud)  ©iner"  [I.  96]). 


OTHELLO. 


The  exact  time  when  the  drama  was  written  has 
not  yet  been  ascertained.  Collier  pretended  the  piece, 
which  Meres  in  his  Palladis  Tamia  does  not  mention, 
to  have  been  composed  in  1602,  but  the  description 
of  a performance  of  the  tragedy  on  the  6th  of  August 
of  that  }^ear  which  is  found  in  the  Egerton  Papers, 
is  not  likely  to  be  genuine.  Malone  places  it  into 
1604,  Fleay  into  1605,  Drake  1612,  Chalmers  1613, 
although  we  know  from  Hans  Wurmser’s  Diary,  that 
Othello  was  acted  in  the  Globe-Theatre  on  the  30th  of 
April  1610,  as  it  is  also  to  be  found  among  the 
pieces  performed  at  the  nuptials  of  James’s  daughter 
Elizabeth  and  the  Count  of  the  Palatinate  in  1613. 

It  was  not  published  before  1622  in  the  form  in 
which  it  had  been  given  under  the  title:  The  Tra- 
goedy  of  Othello,  the  Moore  of  Venice , as  it  hath 
beene  diuerse  times  acted  at  the  Globe , and  at  the 
Black-Friers,  by  his  Maiesties  Seruants.  Written  by 
William  Shakespeare.  London,  Printed  by  K.  O.  for 
Thomas  Walkley  (who  had  it  registered  on  the  6th  of 
October  1621).  We  find  the  original  text  of  the  poet 
in  the  Folio  Edition  of  1623  and  a third  one,  in 
a second  quarto  edition  of  1630  differing  in  several 
parts  from  either. 

Shakespeare  took  the  fable  to  which  Klein  (His- 
tory of  the  Drama  V.  385)  found  analogies  in  Lodo- 
vico  Dolce’s  Tragedia  Marianna,  from  the  7th  Kovel 
of  the  3d  Decade  in  Giraldi  Cinthio’s  Hecatommithi, 
published  1565  and  1574  and  by  Gabriel  Chappuy 
translated  into  French  in  1584,  but  surely  also  edited 
in  English , even  if  now  no  copy  is  extant  of  this 
translation  (see  Collier,  Shakespeare’s  Library,  2d  ed. 
II.  1875). 

About  the  relation  existing  between  that  Kovel 
of  Disdemona , in  which  the  Moro  (i.  e.  a man  of 

B 


CUjetto. 


Uber  bie  ©ntftetjung  § jeit  be*  ©ramaS  ift 
biM)er  nidjtS  init  ©idjerljeit  feftgeftettt.  So  liters 
s2lnficf)t,  ba3  non  5DIere§  in  feiner  Palladis  Tamia  1598 
nidjt  ermdtjnte  ©tiicf  fei  1602  gefcprieben,  mirb-pim 
fattig,  rueit  bie  in  ben  ©gerton-^apieren  liber  feine 
Sarftettung  am  6.  2luguft  be§  $af)re£  gegebene  9'iotij 
podjft  roaI)rfc£)einIi(f)  mted)t  ift.  3JI  a t o n e fe|t  ba3 
SSerfin  ba3  3af)r  1604,  gteap  1605,  $rafe=1612, 
©f) aimers  1613,  obmoljt  mir  au§  §an3  SBurmfer’S 
Xagebud)e  miffen,  baj3  ba3  Srarna  am  30.  Slprit  1610 
im  ©tobettjeater  aufgefliljrt  murbe,  mie  e£  fid)  unter 
ben  1613  bei  ber  aSermdfjtung  non  ©tifabetf)  unb  bent 
ipfatjgrafen  griebrid)  gegebenen  ©tiiden  befinbet. 

35eroffentti(f)t  ift  e§  juerft  1622  in  einer  ber 
Sli^ne  angepafiten  3tebaftion  unter  bent  Xitel:  The 
Tragoedy  of  Othello,  the  Moore  of  Venice,  as  it  hath 
beene  diuerse  times  acted  at  the  Globe,  and  at  the 
Black-Friers , by  his  Maiesties  Seruants.  Written  by 
William  Shakespeare.  London,  Printed  by  N.  0.  for 
Thomas  Walkley  (ber  e§  am  6.  Dftober  1621  fjatte 
eintragen  laffen).  X)en  urfprungtid)en  Xe£t  be*  Xidp 
ter3  finben  mir  bann  2.  in  ber  gotio  non  1623  unb 
eine  junt  Xeil  non  beiben  abmeid)enbe  9te$enfion  in 
einer  jroeiten  DuartauSgabe  non  1630. 

Xen  ©toff,  ju  metdjem  Stein  (®efd)idjte  be§ 
X)rama§  V.  385)  Snatogien  in  Sobooico  X)otce*§  Tra- 
gedia  Marianna  fattb,  ift  entnommen  au§  ber  7.  -Jio- 
nefle  ber  3.  Xefabe  in  ben  §ecatommit£)i  be§ 
©iratbi  ©intfiio,  meldje  1565  unb  1574  er^ 
jdpienen,  non  ©abriet  ©fjappup  in  ba3  granjofifdje 
uberfept  1584  ebiert  morben,  aber  and)  fidjer  in  einer 
ncrtoren  gegangenen  engtifdjen  ttberfepung  ju  8^afe= 
fpeare^  $eit  nor^anben  marett  (man  febe  ©oilier, 
©pafefpeare^  Sibrarp,  2.  ed.  II.  1875).  liber  bie  53e^ 
jieljungen  ber  9Zonelle  non  XiSbemona,  in  metier  ber 

B 


OTHELLO. 


Mauritania,  not  a black  - a - moor)  has  no  name 
whereas  Roderigo  and  Brabantio  are  not  mentioned 
there  — and  Sh.’s  piece  an  essay  of  Th.  Elze  (in  the 
Annual  XIV.  168)  may  be  consulted,  which  following 
Rawdon  Brown  declares  that  the  tale  of  Cinthio 
seems  to  be  founded  on  the  relations  of  the  exploits 
of  a Venetian  patrician  Cristoforo  Moro  in  the  begin- 
ning  of  the  16th  century,  whereas  Sh.  took  many 
other  details  from  his  deep  knowledge  of  Italian  life 
and  the  contemporary  history. 

Othello  was  still  performed  before  the  Civil  War 
4>y  Swanston,  immediately  after  the  Restauration  by 
Burt,  Hart  and  Betterton;  in  the  18th  century  by 
Booth  (f  1732),  Quin  (f  1766),  Barry  (f  1777)  and 
Garrick  (1716 — 79),  who  also  acted  Jago.  On  the 
26th  of  February  1661  we  find  the  Tragicomedy  of 
the  Moor  of  Venice  on  the  court-theatre  of  Dresden. 
Thomas  Rymer  in  „The  Tragedies  of  the  last  Age, 
considered  and  examined,  1678  tried  to  show  his 
countrymen  the  absurdities  of  Othello  (s.  Annual 
IV.  34). 

Lessing  in  the  15th  piece  of  his  Dramaturgy 
(19th  of  June  1767)  speaks  of  it  in  few  words  in 
treating  of  Voltaire’s  Zaire;  2 years  after  Ch.  H. 
Schmid  arranged  it  in  his  English  Theatre ; with  him 
the  Moor  is  white  (v.  Genee  218  and  Annual  XII.  214), 

A second  anonymous  translation  in  the  same 
year  1769  was  followed  by  „The  Handkerchief  or  the 
Moor  of  Venice*,  b}^  Steffens  (Francfort  1770). 
Wieland  in  the  „Mercury”  of  1773  published  Cin- 
thio’s  Novel  and  had  the  piece  3 times  performed  in 
Biberach  in  1774;  Ch.  Jennens  altered  it  in  1773* 
as  1775  „Othelio,  governor  of  Cyprus*  was  given  by 
Dcebbelin,  as  we  are  to  presume,  in  the  translation  of 
Schmid,  which  had  been  edited  in  Kempten  in  the 
c 


Ctfjello. 


TRoro  (bad  Ijeifjt  SRaure,  nid)t  SDJo£(r)  namenlod  ift  unb 
iRoberigo  unb  Strabantio  gar  nidft  borfommen,  ^u  ©f)afe= 
fpeare’d  ©tiid  fef)e  man  Xt).  ©l^e  (^afjrbucf)  XIV.  168), 
ber  nacf)  Gambon  Strotbit  barauf  aufnterffam  macfjt, 
baff  bie  ©rjafflung  fc£j on  bei  ©intffio  fid)  an  bie  Xf)a= 
ten  bed  Stene^ianer  $atri§ierd  ©riftoforo  TRoro 
(anfangd  bed  16.  ^afjrfiunbertd)  anfdfliefft,  toafjrenb 
©fiafefpeare  mandferlei  anbered  aud  feiner  genauett 
®enntnid  italienifdfer  guftanbe  unb  merfmurbiger  SSe- 
gebenfjeiten  feiner  geit  fdfopfte. 

©egeben  murbe  Dtfjedo  nod)  bor  bem  Stiirger- 
friege  bon  ©to  an  ft  on,  gleid)  ttad)  ber  Steftauration 
bon  Sturt,  fpart  unb  Stetterton;  im  18.  f5al)r= 
t)unbert  bon  ©ootf)  (t  1832),  Quin  (f  1766), 
93arrt)  (f  1777)  unb  ©arrid,  ber  aud)  ben  ^ago 
gab.  Situ  26.  gebruar  1661  finben  toir  bie  Tragi- 
comedy of  the  Moor  of  Venice  am  Xredbener 
f?oftf)eater.  XI).  Sterner  in  „The  Tragedies  of  the 
last  Age,  considered  and  examined  (1678)  fudfte  feinett 
Sanbdleuten  a'tterfjanb  Sllberntieiten  im  Otfjello  nad)ju= 
toeifen  (v.  £$al)rbud)  IV.  34). 

2 e f f i n g Ijanbelt  im  15.  ©tiide  ber  Xrantaturgie 
(19.  ^uni  1767)  fnrj  bon  Otljetto  bei  feiner  ©e= 
fpred)ung  non  9So£taire'd  Retire;  jtoei  3af)re  barauf 
bearbeitete  ©f).  $.  ®d)mib  bad  Xrama  in  feittent 
©nglifdjen  iEfjeater  unb  madjte  aud  betn  9Rot)ren  einen 
SBeifeen  (v.  ©enee  218  unb  IgaljrBudj  XII.  214).  2Cuf 
eine  jroeite  attongme  Ubertragung  in  bemfelben  :gal)re 
1769  folgte  „X>ad  ©dfnubftud)  ober  ber  3Rol)r  bon  $ene* 
big"  oon  ©teffend  (granffurt  1770).  SSielanb  teilte  1773 
int  TRerlur  bie  Stobette  bon  ©intlfio  mit  unb  fiifyrte  bad 
©tiid  breimal  1774  in  Stiberad)  auf ; ©1).  $ e n n e n d an= 
berte  ed  1773  fiir  bie  58iif)ne;  1775  murbe  „0tl)ello,  ©tatt= 
((alter  in  ©t)bern"  bon  Xobbelin,  roa^rfd^einHcE)  in  ber 
injmifdjen  1775  in  ®empten  ncuebierten  ©ctjmib’fdjen 


OTHELLO. 


same  year;  Schroeder  in  1776  (26th  of  October) 
brought  it  on  the  stage  in  Hamburg  in  his  arrange- 
ment which  modifies  the  tragical  end;  Fleck  gave  it 
in  Berlin  in  1788,  after  it  had  at  large  been  spoken 
of  by  the  Poor  Man  of  Toggenburg  in  1780  (see  the 
Annual  XII.  162). 

After  Ducis  had  translated  it  into  French  (Paris 
l’an  II,  i.  e.  1794)  and  L.  Schubart  had  in  1802 
published  his  prose  translation  of  the  piece  which 
in  1804  was  altered  by  John  Kemble  and  1806 
was  arranged  in  Vienna  as  a farce , Othello  was 
performed  on  the  8th  of  June  1805  on  the  the- 
atre of  Weimar  in  the  translation  which  H.  Voss 
made  caused  by  Schiller  who  modified  it  essentially 
[published  in  Jena  1806;  see  Annual  XV.  223, 
Goedeke,  Schillers  Works  XV.  2.  1876.  227,  Genee 
3Q1];  since  19.  4.  1827  it  was  always  performed  in 
Dresden  in  this  form  (see  Annual  XV.  208). 

1817  Rossini  wrote  an  opera  „Otello” ; 1821 

English  actors  in  Paris  were  hissed  when  they 
gave  Othello  and  Sheridan’s  ^School  of  Scandal”  (v. 
Borne  V.  191).  Few  years  later  the  same  dramas 
were  received  with  the  greatest  applause  in  the  same 
town.  1824  Meyer  in  Gotha  gave  a dreadfully  dis- 
figured text,  1832  appeared  Ruhl  , ^Outlines  to 
Sh/s  O.”  (Francfort),  1834  a translation  of  Benda, 
performed  at  Karlsruhe,  and  1841  West,  O.  arranged 
for  the  performance  in  Vienna.  1851  Silvers  gave  his 
essay  „on  the  fundamental  idea  of  O.”  and  „On  O/s  love” 
(Gotha),  in  1853  an  edition  of  the  piece  (Bruns- 
wick). 

1855  we  find  an  English  edition  by  Taylor 
(London),  1858  Klanke,  On  the  beauties  of  Sh/s  O. 
(Landsberg) ; 1860  Spandau,  O.  criticized  and  inter- 
preted (Regensburg) , Jordan  a translation  of  the 

n 


0tfjefto. 


tiberfepung  gegeben.  1776  bradjte  il)n  ©djroeber 
(26.  Dftober)  in  feiner  ben  tragifd)en  2tu§gang  ab- 
■anbernben  ©earbeitnng  in  Hamburg  anf  bie  ©iipne; 
1780  befprad)  ifjn  ber  Slrme  9Jiann  im  Sbggenburg 
eingeljenb  (ogl.  iaprbud)  XII.  162).  gted  bradjte  ipn 
1788  jur  2tnffuljrnng  in  Berlin.  SKadjbem  Sncie 
Othello  ou  le  More  de  Yenise  (Paris,  l’an  II)  nnb 
S.  ©cfjubart  1802  fetne  $rofa-Ubertragung  be£ 
1804  oon  iopn  Kemble  eingeridjteten  @tiide§,  ba§ 
1806  aU  ^JSoffe  bearbeitet  in  SBien  erfdjienen  mar, 
beriffenttidjt  £)atte,  erfdfjien  1806  am  8.  gniti  Stbetto 
in  ber  anf  ©d)iller’3  ©eranlaffmtg  bnrd)  £>.  3} of) 
gemad)ten  nnb  Don  ©emitter  oielfad)  abgeanberten 
Uberfe|nng  in  SBeimar  (ebiert  1806  iena;  man 
fetje  baritber  iaprbnd)  XV.  223,  ©oebefe,  ©emitter’* 
fdmtlicpe  ©d^riften  XV.  2.  1876.  227  ff. , ®enee 
301);  feit  19.  4.  1827  mnrbe  biefetbe  ftet§  in  ®re§- 
ben  gegeben.  1817  bradfjte  31  off  ini  feine  Dper 
Otello ; 1821  madjten  engtifcfje  @d)aitfpieler  mit  ber  ®ar- 
ftettnng  be§  Dtpetto  nnb  ©f)eriban'§  School  of  Scandal 
in  ^ari§  gia§lo  (tnie  ©orne  V.  191  erjafjlt),  mafjrenh 
menigeiapre  fpdter  biefe§  nnb  attbere  Sramen  @£)afe- 
fpeare’§  mit  groftem  ©eifatt  anfgenomnten  ttmrben.  1824 
herbffentlidjte  SJIeper  (©ot^a)  feine  (Sntftedung  be§ 
‘Xejte§;  1832  91uf)I:  Outlines  to  Sh.’s  Othello  (grant- 
fnrt).  1834  mnrbe  ba3  ©tiid,  iiberfept  non  ©enba,  in 
S’arternlje  gegeben  nnb  1841  non  333  e ft  fur  bie  2)ar^ 
ftettnng  anf  bem  ©urgtfjeater  ju  SBien  bearbeitet.  1851 
<erfdjienen  ©ieoer§,  „Uber  bie  ©rnnbibee  be§  D."  nnb 
f,$ialettit  ber  Siebe  Dtfjetto^"  (©ottja),  1853  non  berm 
felben  eine  ©earbeitnng  be§  Stride^  (©rannfdjmeig),  1855 
cine  englifdje  9ln§gabe  non  % at)  tor  (Sonbon),  1858 
£ ( a n f e,  On  the  beauties  in  Sh.’s  0.  (Sanb^berg) ; 1860 
© p a n b a u,  $ur  Sritit  nnb  interpretation  be§  0.  (91e^ 
gen£bnrg),  nnb  i o r b a nr3  Uberfehnng  (£>itbburg1)aufen). 

D 


OTHELLO. 


drama.  1863  appeared  Lueders,  Contributions  to  the  ] 
explanation  of  Sh/s  0.  (Hamburg)  and  Heeler,  On 
the  Characters  in  0.  (New  Swiss  Museum  III.) ; 1864 
Flathe,  Sh.  in  his  reality  (Leipsic,  II.  Othello);  1 
0.  Marbach,  Othello  the  Moor  of  V.  after  Sh.  (Leip- 
sic) and  the  facsimiled  edition  of  1622  by  Aslibee 
(London  4"). 

In  1865  Giulio  Carcano  published  his  Italian  j 
translation  in  Paris;  Koester,  Marginalia  to  Othello  | 
and  Macbeth  (Annual  I.  138);  in  1866  Norden  his  ] 
0. , told  after  the  poet  Sh.  (Popular  books , edited 
in  Rosenheim);  1867  appeared  BodenstedFs  trans-  j 
lation , on  which  P.  Lindau  made  his  remarks  in 
his  ^Indiscrete  Notes  on  Literary  objects”  (Leipsic  ] 
1871.  279  &c.).  Leon  Pourpery  published  the  drama 
in  a French  translation  in  3 acts  (Villeneuve) ; j 
Hinton  in  1869  as  it  was  produced  by  Edwin  Booth 
(New- York),  Aitken,  arranged  it  for  the  London  drama- 
tic company  (London) ; Hunter  gave  an  edition  of  j 
the  text  (London)  and  0.  Buchwald,  Medea  and  Othello 
(in  the  Propylaen  I.  40 — 43).  Also  Masing  (in  Vir- 
chow’s and  Holzendorfs  Publications  162)  treats  of 
Othello  in  „The  Tragical  guilt”.  After  the  new  French 
Translation  by  de  Chatelain  in  1871  we  find  the  1 
curious  Hebrew  translation  of  0.  by  J.  E.  S.  (Sal-  j 
kinson) , edited  by  Peter  Smolensky  (Vienna);  1872 
Meissner  spoke  about  it  in  the  Annual  VII.  115.  1875 
appeared  0.,  a tragedy  with  the  Italian  version,  as  per- 
formed by  Signor  Salvini  at  Drury  Lane  (London) ; Elliot  ; 
Browne,  0.  and  Sampiero  (in  the  Athenaeum  II.  371);  j 
Koenig’s  Essay  (in  the  Annual  X.  242)  and  Snider’s  ! 
in  the  Academy,  October  30);  1876  the  copy  of  the  j 
drama  in  Italian  with  the  French  text  on  the  opposite 
page,  as  performed  by  Ernesto  Rossi.  Then  came 
0.  as  presented  by  Booth,  published  by  Winter  , 

E 


OtfyeUo. 

1863  erfdjienen  Sii b er §,  Seitrage  jur  Srflarnng  Don 
©l).r3  0.  (Hamburg)  unb  § e b 1 e r,  fiber  bte  Kijaraftere 
in  ©lj/8  0.  (9?eue3  ©djtoeijer.  2Jhfieum  III.) ; 1864 
5 1 a t £)  e/  ©t).  in  feiner  SSirfli.cfyfeit  (Seipjig ; II.  Othello), 
0.  Ska  r bad),  0tf)ello  ber  Skofjr  non  Senebig,  nad) 
@1).  (Seipjig)  nnb  bie  faCfirrtilierte  2tn£gabe  Don  1622 
bnrd)  SI f £)  b e e (Sonbon,  4”).  1865  oeroffenttidjte 

©inlio  Karcano  feine  italienifc^e  fibertragnng  in 
)£ari£;  £).  Soefter  SJiarginalien  jum  0tt)eflo  nnb 
■Jftacbetf)  Oaijrbnd)  I.  138);  1866  sJiorben  feinen 
Otfjello,  bem  ®id)ter  ©f}afe)peare  nadjer^abjt  (9iojem 
fyeinter  Solf^bndj));  1867  font  33  o b e n ft  e b l!berfe|nng 
(toojn  man  Sinban,  Siterarifdje  ^udfi(f)t§lofigfeiten, 
Seipfig  1871.  279  ff.  oergleidjen  moge);  ferner  „Othello, 
drame  en  3 actes,  par  Leon  Pourpery  (Yilleneuve); 
1869:  0.  as  produced  by  E.  Booth,  by  H.  Hinton 
(New -York);  0.  arranged  for  the  London  dramatic 
Company  by  W.  Ait  ken  (London,  4U);  eine  s2tu§gabe 
Don  punter  (Sonbon)  nnb  0.  33 ud)  to  alb,  Skebea 
nnb  0tf)etto  Opropplaen  I.  40—43).  Son  0tt)etlo 
i)a nbelt  and)  Skafing,  ®ie  Xragijdje  ©d)ulb  (in 
Sirdjotn^  SSortrdgen,  162).  SJad)  ber  franjbfifdjen 
fibertragnng  bnrd)  be  ©fjatetain  1871  erfdjien  1874 
ba§  Snriofnm : Othello  translated  into  Hebrew , by 
J.  E.  S.  (Salkinson)  ed.  by  Peter  Smolensky  (Wien); 
1872  eine  33efpred)nng  Don  Sk  e i fe  n e r iin  3af)rbud)  VII. 
115;  1875  Othello,  a tragedy  with  the  Italian  version 
as  performed  by  Signor  Salvini  at  Drury  Lane  (Lon- 
don); gftiot  Sr o tone,  0tt)ello  nnb  ©ampiero  (sM)e= 
naeum  II.  371);  oergi  audj  Sbnig'3  33efpred)ung 
be3  ®rama§  in  feinem  Stuffa^e  (^afrbnd)  X.  242); 
©niber  in  ber  Academy,  0ftober  9to.  30;  1876 
0.,  tragedie , traduite  par  Carcano , avec  le  fran£ais 
en  regard  (Paris)  nad)  6.  9t  o f f 43  ®arftetlung.  S3 
folgten:  0.  as  presented  by  Booth  ed.  W inter  (New- 


OTHELLO. 


(New -York),  J.  Goldschmidt  in  his  Dramaturgical 
Notices  (18/8)  „On  Othello“;  an  edition  by  Sievers- 
(18/9)  and  another  by  Rolfe  (New -York),  Th.  Elze 
„On  different  points  in  Othello  which  are  not  true 
\renetian“  (Annual  1879);  Bulthaupt , Essays  on  the 
dramatic  and  critical  department  (Bremen  1879),. 
Zaire  et  Othello  by  P.  Okmilly  (in  the  Revue 
bordelaise  16.  2.  and  1.  4.  1880)  and  Hano  , Some 
hints  about  Sh ’s  0.  in  Kolbing’s  Review  IY.  1,  with 
which  may  be  compared  some  Essays  in  Herrig’s 
Archiv  V.  225:  on  0.  and  Lear;  IX.  76,  X.  113  on 
the  Character  of  0.;  0.  and  Gutierre  (XXV.  432, 
XXVI.  188)  and  XXVI.  1 — 24  „A  Comparison  of  0. 
and  The  Physician  of  his  honor,  by  Calderonw.  In 
1883  Mac-Pherson  edited  his  Spanish  translation 
(Madrid). 

On  the  21st  of  July  1883  Charles  Barrington  ap- 
peared as  Othello  in  Kilburn  Town  Hall ; about  30 
years  ago  the  part  was  one  of  the  favorite  per- 
formances of  Phelps  and  of  the  black  actor  Ira 
Aldridge. 

In  Berlin , where  it  was  given  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  on  the  17th  December  1883  on  the 
Court  Theatre,  and  with  Barnay  on  the  7th  in  the 
German  Theatre,  in  Dresden  and  Karlsruhe  they  per- 
form the  drama  in  the  translation  of  Voss,  in  the 
latter  court  theatre  in  the  arrangement  of  Ed.  Devrient, 
in  Munich  and  Vienna  arranged  by  West,  in  Weimar 
after  Dingelstedt. 

Brandenburg,  January  1884. 

Prof.  Dr.  Karl  Sachs. 


V 


Dtfjelto. 


York  1878);  ©olbfcljmibt  in  ben  ©rantaturg.. 
Botigen  (1878)  „iiber  bie  91u§gabe  non  6.  9B. 
8ieoer3;  eine  anbere  non  91 0 1 f e (9Iem4?)orf  1879); 
©1).  ($  1 g e , Unoenetianifd)e§  int  0tl)ello  (;gal}rbucf> 
1879);  Bultljaupt  in  „©treifgitge  auf  bramatifdjem 
unb  fritifdfem  ®ebiete"  (Bremen  1879);  Zaire  et  Othello 
par  P.  Ormilly  in  ber  Revue  bordelaise  16.  2.  unb 
1.  4.  1880  unb  (pano,  Some  hints  about  Sh.’s  0. 
in  ®olbing§  Beitfdjrift  IV.  1 , moneben  nocf;  gu  Oer- 
g(eid)en  finb  bie  Slrtifel  in  £>errig’3  91rcf)io  V.  225: 
itber  0.  unb  Sear,  IX.  76.  X.  118  gur  ©Ijarafteriftil 
0.’§ ; 0.  unb  ©utierre  (XXV.  482,  XXVI.  188)  unb 
XXVI.  1 — 24:  SSergIeicf»uttg  0tl)ello’3  mit  bem  91rgt 
feiner  61) re  oon  Salberoit.  1883  er(d)iett  bie  Uber= 
tragung  0t^etlo’§  burcf)  @uill.  !JRacpf)erfon  ($0tabrib). 

91m  21.  ^uli  1883  trat  Sf)arle§  Barrington 
a (3  CtbeUo  in  Kilburn  Town  Hall  auf;  in  ben 
fitnfgiger  ^alfren  mar  bie§  eine  £)auptroHe  be§  fdfmar- 
gen  ©cfjaufpielerS  !yra  9llbribge.  3ft  Berlin,  mo 
e§  am  17.  ©egember  1883  gum  tjunbertften  SDtale  im 
Sdjaufpielffaufe  unb  am  7.  mit  Barnat)  im  ©eutfdien 
©tjeater  bargeftellt  iuurbe,  unb  in  $ r e § b e n mirb  ba§- 
©rarna  in  ber  Boffifdjeu  Bearbeitung,  in  Sarl§  = 
ru()e  ttacf)  berfelben  (oon  @b.  ©eorient  gurecfjt  ge- 
mac£)t)  gegeben , in  SO?  ii  n d)  e n unb  923  i e tt  nad)  9Beft, 
in  923  e i m a r nad)  ©ingelftebt. 

& r a 11  i)  t n t u r 3 , im  Qanuar  1884. 


SProf.  Dr.  ^arf  J?ad?s. 


F 


OTHELLO 

THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 

BY 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


bex  ^Toln*  von  l^medig. 

llberfe^t  t>on 

X tt).  non  Sd)lc0cl. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


DTJKE  OF  VENICE. 

BRABANTIO,  a senator. 

Other  Senators. 

GrATIANO,  brother  to  BRABANTIO. 

LODOVICO,  kinsman  to  BRABANTIO. 

OTHELLO,  a noble  Moor  in  the  service  of  the  Venetian  state. 
CaSSIO,  his  lieutenant. 

IaGO,  his  ancient. 

RODERIGO,  a Venetian  gentleman. 

MONTANO,  Othello’s  predecessor  in  the  government  of  CYPRUS. 
Clown,  servant  to  OTHELLO. 

DESDEMONA,  daugther  to  BRABANTIO  and  wife  to  OTHELLO.  ' 
Emilia,  wife  tolAGO. 

Blanca,  mistress  to  cassio. 

Sailor,  Messenger,  Herald,  Officers,  Gentlemen,  Musicians,  and 
Attendants  &c. 


SCENE  — The  first  act  in  VENICE  ; during  the  rest  of  the  play,  at 
a seaport  in  CYPRUS. 


perfotten: 


§erjog  bon  SScnebig. 

SBrabantio,  (Senator, 
aftetjrere  ©enatorett 

©r at ia no,  \ g5erroart|jtc  SBraBantio. 

£ o b o b i c o , j 
Dttjetlo,  $elbljen;;  9)lofjv. 

(Saffio,  feirt  £ieutenant. 

Sago,  fein  gdfjnbctdj. 

JRobrigo,  ein  junger  SSeitetianer. 

50lontano,  ©tattfialter  bon  ©bbern. 

Sftarr,  SDiener  be3  Dtfjello. 

£er o lb. 

2>e§bemona,  93rabantio§  £od)ter. 

(Sntilia,  S^go§  $rau. 

Bianca , ©onrtiiane. 

ONatrofen,  SBoten,  §erolb,  Offijiere,  ©belleute,  SRufiftmteit, 
®efolge  u.  f.  id. 

©Sene  im  evften  Slufsug  in  SBenebig;  fjernadj  in  Stybern. 


1* 


5 


10 


15 


20 


25 


30 


35 


40 


Act  I. 

Scene  I.  Venice.  A Street . 

Enter  Rodekigo  and  Iago. 

^ThatTthin  arZer  ‘"l!  T;  ' ,take  jt  much  unkindly 
inat  th°u,  Iago,  who  hast  had  my  purse  Y 

Vs  'Ui6  f r,mgs  were  thine>  shouldst  know  of  this 
Iago  ’Sblood  but  you  will  not  hear  me  :-  ’ ~ 

If  ever  I did  dream  of  such  a matter, 

Abhor  me.  ’ 

Rod  Thou  told’st  me  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy  hate 
/^.  Despise  me,  if  I do  not.  Three  great  ones  of  the 

Off VrT™’T\  *°  make  me  his  lieutenant, 

Off-capp  d to  him : — and,  by  the  faith  of  man 
I know  my  price,  I’m  worth  no  worse  a place  • 

But  he  as  loving  his  own  pride  and  purposes 
Evades  them,  with  a bombast  circumstance  ’ 

Horribly  stuff’d  with  epithets  of  war- 
And,  in  conclusion, 

?/°  WS  ;lly  Tdif0rs;  for’  'Ceries,”  says  he, 

1 have  already  chose  my  officer ” 

And  what  was  he? 

Forsooth,  a great  arithmetician, 

One  Michael  Cassio,  a Florentine, 

A fellow  almost  damn’d  in  a fair  wife* 

That  never  set  a squadron  in  the  field, 

Nor  the  division  of  a battle  knows 

More  than  a spinster;  unless  the  bookish  theoric 

Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 

^Soiia?erlyir  heJ  mere  Prattle>  Without  practice 
And llThlsfs°ldlership.  But  he,  sir,  had  the  election: 

a?  pf~i  f h°^  hlS  eyes  had  seen  the  proof 
At  Bn  odes,  at  Cyprus  and  on  other  grounds 

Christian  and  heathen  — must  be  he-lee’d  and  calm’d 
By  debitor  and  creditor:  this  counter-caster-  1 

He,  m good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  he,  ’ 

, God  bl5ss  the  mark!  — his Moorship’s  ancient 
Rod.  By  heaven,  I rather  would  have  been  his  hangman 


5 


©rfter  3tuf$ug. 

Grjlc  £)Cttc.  $enebig.  (Sine  0trafce. 
treten  anf  Oiobtigo  uttb  S^Q0- 

9ft  ob.  0agr  mir  nur  nid)t§,  benn  bamit  frantft  bu  mid)  — * 
10  ®af},  Qago,  bu,  ber  meiite  33brfe  finite, 

mar7  fie  bein  — bie  0ad)e  fd)oit  gemufft. 

Sago.  3$r  prt  fa  nid)t!  — 

£mb7  id)  mir  je  baoon  7ma§  traumen  taffen, 

$erabfdjeut  mid)! 

15  9iob.  $)u  t)aft  mir  ftet£  gefagt,  bu  t)affeft  tfjn! 

Sago.  $erad)te  mid),  menu  3 nid)t  fo  iff. 

S)rei  9Jidd)tige  au§  biefer  0tabt,  perfonlid) 

25emuf)t,  p feinem  £icutenant  mic^  p ntad)eit, 

§mfierten  it)m  — uub  auf  0oIbatenmort, 

20  Sd)  fenne  meiueu  ^rei§  — ba§  fommt  mir  p. 

SDod)  er,  Oertiebt  iu  feinen  0t ot$  uub  S)iintet, 

2Beid)t  i!)neu  au§,  mit  0d)mulft,  meit  bergeljolt, 

3)en  er  ftaffiert  mit  graufen  ^rieg^fenten^en, 

Hub  fur$  uub  gut, 

25  0d)lcigtr3  meiueu  (SJoitnern  ab ! benn : „£raun" — fo  fprid)t  er— 
„(Srnannt  fd)ou  f)ab7  id)  nteineu  Officer". 

Uub  mer  ift  biefer? 

@et)t  mir!  eiit  gar  au§bitnbrger  9ied)enmeifter, 

(Silt  9)iid)ael  (Saffio,  eiu  gtorentiner, 

30  (Silt  28id)t,  pm  fdimitdeu  2$etbe  faft  Oerfiinbigt, 

*3)er  niemalS  eiue  0d)ar  in§  $etb  gefiiprt, 

9cod)  non  ber  §eere§orbmtng  met)r’oerftet)t 
s2lt§  Siingferc^eu ; nur  23ud)'ertt)eorte, 

$on  ber  in  feiner  £oga  motjt  ein  9xat*f)err 
35  0o  metetid)  fprid)t  at§  er  — att  feine  ftriegsfunft 
®efd)mab,  uid)t  $ra£i§  — ber  nun  mirb  ermatjlt; 

Unb  id),  non  bent  fein  2(itge  ^roben  fat) 

§u  3?t)obu§,  (Sl)bern  unb  auf  auberm  ^obeit, 
f)riftlid)  unb  tfeibnifd),  fomm'  um  3®inb  unb  glut 
,40  ^)urd)  fotdjen  9led)enfned)t,  fold)  (Sinmalein3; 

S)er,  motjt  befomm73  itjm,  ntufj  fein  lieutenant  fein, 

Unb  id),  ($ott  beffer7§!  feiner  ^?cot)rfcf)aft  Sabnbrid). 

Otob.  93ei  ©ott!  fein  Renter  miirb7  id)  tieber  fein!  — 

3 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  Why,  there’s  no  remedy;  ’tis  the  curse  of  service 
Preferment  goes  by  letter  and  affection, 

And  not  by  old  gradation,  where  each  second 
Stood  heir  to  the  first.  Now,  sir,  be  judge  yourself 
5 Whether  I in  any  just  term  am  affin’d 
To  love  the  Moor. 

R°d-  I would  not  follow  him  then. 

Iago . 0,  sir,  content  you; 

I follow  him  to  serve  my  turn  upon  him: 

10  We  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  follow’d.  You  shall  mark 
Many  a duteous  and  lmee-crooking  knave, 

That,  doting  on  his  own  obsequious  bondage, 

Wears  out  his  time,  much  like  his  master’s  ass, 

15  For  nought  but  provender;  and,  when  he’s  old,  cashier’d 
Whip  me  such  honest  knaves.  Others  there  are 
Who,  trimm’d  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty, 

Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves, 

And,  throwing  but  shows  of  service  on  their  lords, 

20  Do  well  thrive  by  them,  and,  when  they’ve  lin’d  their  coats. 
Do  themselves  homage:  these  fellows  have  some  soul*' 
And  such  a one  do  I profess  mvself. 

For,  sir, 

It  is  as  sure  as  you  are  Boderigo, 

25  Were  I the  Moor,  I would  not  be  Iago: 

In  following  him,  I follow  but  myself; 

Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I for  love  and  duty, 

But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end: 

For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
30  The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  compliment  extern,  ’tis  not  long  after 
But  1 will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at:  I am  not  what  I am. 

Rod.  What  a full  fortune  does  the  thick-lips  owe, 

35  If  he  can  carry’t  thus! 

dago.  Call  up  her  father, 

Bouse  him:  make  after  him,  poison  his  delight, 

Proclaim  him  in  the  streets;  incense  her  kinsmen, 

And,  though  he  in  a fertile  climate  dwell, 

10  Plague  him  with  flies:  though  that  his  joy  be  joy, 

Yet  throw  such  changes  of  vexation  on’t, 

As  it  may  lose  some  colour. 

Rod,  Here  is  her  father’s  house;  I’ll  call  aloud. 

4 


DtfjcKo. 


3 ci go.  £)a  tjitft  nid)t§  fur:  ba§  ift  bet*  3tud)  be§  ®ienfte§. 
SBefbrb’rmtg  getjt  end)  nad)  ©ntbfeljl  urtb  ©unft, 

9?id)t  nad)  etjmargent  9iang,  tuo  jeber  gtneite 
®en  be§  SBormanuS  erbt.  Urteilt  nun  felbft, 

5 06  mid)  tooljt  irgenb  91ed)t  unb  2)anf  berbftidjtet, 

3u  tieben  biefen  ’9J£of)ren. 

9ft  ob.  ©o  bienf  id)  ifjm  aud)  nidjt. 

Qa go.  O,  feib  ganj  rujjig. 

Qd)  bien'  itjm,  um  mir’3  ein&ubringen;  ei!  roirfomten 
10  9ftid)t  ade  §errn  fein,  nidjt  faun  jeber  fperr 
©etreue  Wiener  tjaben.  ©etjt  iijr  bod) 

©o  mand)en  bftidjt'gen,  fniegebeugteu  ©d)uft, 

3)er,  gan§  toerliebt  in  feme  ©UaOenfeffet, 
yHutyawt,  red)t  true  ber  ©fet  feine§  £>ernt, 

15  Um§  §eu,  unb  loirb  ini  fitter  fortgejagt.  — 

$eitfdjt  mir  folcf)  rebtid)  9Solf ! — 3) arm  giebt  e$  9tnb’re, 
$)ie,  au§ftaf fieri  mit  93Iid  unb  gornt  ber  2)emut, 

©in  £>er$  beroatjren,  ba§  nut  fid)  bebenft, 

$)ie  nur  ©djeinbienfte  fiefern  tfjren  Obern, 

20  3)urd)  fie  gebeitj'n  nub,  ioann  il)r  $et^  gefiittert, 

©id) fetbft'  ©ebieter  finb.  £>ie  93urfd)cn  tjaben  W\$, 

Unb  biefer  Qunft  ^u  folgen,  ift  mein  ©tot§ ; 

®enn,  fjreunb, 

3r  ift  fo  geioifi,  al§  ifjr  9ftobrjgo  tjeifjt, 

25  9Mr’  id)  ber  93ftofjr,  nid)t  mod)f  id)  3ago  fein. 

3Senn  id)  il)iu  bicne,  bien?  id)  nur  mir  fetbft! 

&er  §immet  toeift  e§!  nidjt  au§  £ieb*  unb  s$ftid)t, 

9?ein,  nur  pm  ©djein  fitr  meinen  eignen  Qmecf. 

£)enn  menu  mein  ciuj^reS  Xtpun  je  offmbart 
30  $)e§  ^exjenS  angeborn’e  %t  unb  Sfteiguug 

3n  £>attung  unb  ©eberbe,  .bann.atSbatb 
2BiCt  id)  mein  0er§  an  meinem  linnet  tragen 

graft  fdr  featj'n.  — 3ct)  bin  nicf)t.  iua§  icf)  bin! 

9ft  o b.  9Seld)r  reid)e§  ©tiicf  fattt  bem  3)i|mdutrgen  &u, 

35  9$enn  itjm  ber  ©treidj  gelingt! 

3 ago.  1 9ftuft  auf  ben  SBatcr, 

$e£t  ben  itjm  nad);  oergiftet  feme  Suft ; 

©djreitr§  bnrd)  bie  ©tabt;  mad)t  ifjre  SSettern  ioiib; 

Unb  ob  er  nnter  m'itbem  .fjintmet  tootjnt, 

40  93tagt  it)n  mit  gtiegen;  ift  bie  greub’  itjm  greube, 

SSerfeftt  fie  bennod)it)tn  mit  fooiel  ^ein, 

$)aft  fie  etnm§  erbteidje. 

91  ob.  .§>ier  ift  be§  SBaterd  .&au§;  idj  ruf  ifjn  taut. 

o 4 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  Do,  witli  like  timorous  accent  and  dire  yell 
As  when,  by  night  and  negligence,  the  tire 
Is  spied  in  populous  cities. 

Rod.  What,  ho,  Brahantio!  Signior  Brabantio,  ho! 

5 Iago.  Awake!  what,  ho,  Brabantio!  thieves!  thieves! 
thieves ! 

Look  to  your  house,  your  daughter  and  your  bags! 
Thieves!  thieves! 

10  Brabantio  appears  above , at  a window. 

Bra.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  terrible  summons? 

What  is  the  matter  there? 

Rod.  Signior,  is  all  your  family  within? 

Iago.  Are  your  doors  lock’d? 

15  Bra.  Why,  wherefore  ask  you  this? 

Iago.  ’Zounds,  sir,  you’re  robb’d;  for  shame,  put  on  your 
gown ; v 

Your  heart  is  hurst,  you  have  lost  half  your  soul; 

Even  now,  now,  very  now,  an  old  black  ram 
20  Is  tupping  your  white  ewe.  Arise,  arise; 

Awake  the  snorting  citizens  with  the  bell, 

Or  else  the  devil  will  make  a grandsire  of  you: 

Arise,  I say. 

Bra.  What,  have  you  lost  your  wits? 

25  Rod.  Most  reverend  signior,  do  you  know  my  voice? 

Bra.  Not  I:  what  are  you? 

Rod.  My  name  is  Roderigo. 

Bra.  The  worser  welcome: 

I’ve  charg’d  thee  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors: 

30  In  honest  plainness  thou  hast  heard  me  say 

My  daughter  is  not  for  thee;  and  now,  in  madness, 
Being  full  of  supper  and  distempering  draughts, 

Upon  malicious  bravery,  dost  thou  come 
To  start  my  quiet. 

35  Rod.  Sir,  sir,  sir,  — 

Bra.  But  thou  must  needs  he  sure 

My  spirit  and  my  place  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  bitter  to  thee. 

Rod.  Patience,  good  sir. 

40  Bra.  What  tell’st  thou  me  of  robbing?  this  is  Venice; 
My  house  is  not  a grange. 

Rod.  Most  grave  Brabantio, 

In  simple  and  pure  soul  I come  to  you. 


DtfjeHo. 


3 a go.  ^a§  tfju t,  mit  gteidjent  9lngftruf  unb  $ebeul, 
s2lt§  menu  bei  9kd)t  unb  fiftffigteit  etn  ^euer 
(Srfacibt  toirb  in  Dolfreidjen  ©tdbten. 

9?ob.  £)ado,  93rabantio!  ©ignor  93rabantio,  ! ! — 

5 Qag.  Cmoad)t;  ^ado!  93rabantio!  SDtebe ! ®iebel 
$>iebe! 

9M)tnt  euer  £>att§  in  9(d)t,  eu'r  $inb,  eu’r  ®elb! 

§e,  SDiebe ! ®iebe ! — 

jq  SBrafcaittio  often  am  ftcnfter. 

93rab.  5Ba§  ift  bie  Urfad)’  biefe§  milbcn  &ctrm§? 

98a§  giebt  eS  §ier ? — 

9^  o b.  3f*  af(e§,  ma§  eudj  ange^ort,  im  £mufe? 

3a  go.  5)ie  STbuven  &u? 

15  93rab.  9hnt,  marum  fragt  itjr  ba3?  — 

Qago.  3br  feib  beraubt,'  pm  Xeufel!  9M)int  ben 
9Jiaittel ! 

(£urr  £>er§  jerbradj,  ^alb  eure  Seed  ift  bin. 

3e|t,  ebeu  jettf,  bepingt  ein  alter  fd)tnar^er 
20  ©djafbod  eit7r  toeifjeS  £cunmd)en.  — 9tuf!  ^erait^  1 
98edt  bie  fd)Iaftrunfnen  93itrger  mit  ber  ©lode, 

©onft  mad)t  ber  Xeufel  end)  pm  ®rof3paba. 

9luf,  fag7  id),  auf!  — 

93rab.  2Ba§!  feib  d)r  bei  93erftanb  ? 

25  9?ob.  (SbvnriirMger  £>err,  fennt  ib)r  mid)  an  ber  ©timrne? 
93rab.  3d)  nid)t!  3Ser  bift  bu? 

91  ob.  SRobrigc  beifj'  id). 

SBrab.  9ftir  urn  fo  berbafjter! 

93efoblen  bob'  id)  Mr,  mein  £mu§  p meiben; 

30  <#an$  unocrbobten  b^rteft  bu  mid)  fagcn, 

9ft  ein  finb  fei  nid)t  fiir  bid)  — unb* nun,  mie  rafenb, 
2Som  9ftat)ie  bolt  unb, tborenbem  ©etrciuf, 

3n  bb§tid)  trotVgem  iibermute  fcntmft  bit, 

^ 9ft  id)  in  ber  9htl)7  p ftbren? 

35  91  o b.  §err,  .sjerr,  ©err! 

93  r a b.  *3)o d),  miffen  follft  bit  bie§: 

3)urd)  meine  £raft  unb  ©tedung  bob7  id)  9ftod)t, 

3)ir73  p oergddeu. 

9iob.  9iubigf  toerter  ©err ! 

40  93rab.  98a§  fbrid)ft  bu  tttir  turn  9faub  ? $ie§  ift  93encbiq, 
9ftein  ^ataft  feiue  ©d)eune. 

91  ob.  ©ebr  mitrMger  £)err 

3n  arglo*  reiner  9lbfid)t  fomm7  id)  ber. 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  ’Zounds,  sir,  you  are  one  of  those  that  will  not  serve 
God,  if  the  devil  bid  you.  Because  we  come  to  do  you 
service  and  you  think  we  are  ruffians,  you’ll  have  your 
daughter  covered  with  a Barbary  horse;  you’ll  have  your 
5 nephews  neigh  to  you;  you'll  have  coursers  for  cousins 
and  gennets  for  germans. 

Bra . What  profane  wretch  art  thou? 

Iago.  I am  one,  sir,  that  comes  to  tell  you  your  daughter 
and  the  Moor  are  now  making  the  beast  with  two 
10  backs. 

Bra.  Thou  art  a villain. 

Iago.  You  are — a senator. 

Bra.  This  thou  shalt  answer;  I know  thee,  Roderigo. 

Rod.  Sir,  I will  answer  any  thing.  But,  I beseech  you, 

15  Ifit  be  your  pleasure  and  most  wise  consent, 

As  partly  I find  it  is,  that  your  fair  daughter, 

At  this  odd-even  and  dull  watch  o’  the  night 
Transported,  with  no  worse  nor  better  guard 
But  with  a knave  of  common  hire,  a gondolier, 

20  To  the  gross  clasps  of  a lascivious  Moor,  — 

If  this  be  known  to  you  and  your  allowance, 

We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs; 

But  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  me 
We  have  your  wrong  rebuke.  Do  not  believe 
25  That,  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 

I thus  would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence : 

Your  daughter,  if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, 

I say  again,  hath  made  a gross  revolt ; 

Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit,  and  fortunes, 

30  In  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger 

Of  here  and  every  where.  Straight  satisfy  yourself 
If  she  be  in  her  chamber  or  your  house, 

Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state 
For  thus  deluding  you. 

35  Bra.  Strike  on  the  tinder,  ho! 

Give  me  a taper!  call  up  all  my  people! 

This  accident  is  not  unlike  my  dream: 

Belief  of  it  oppresses  me  already. 

Light,  I say!  light!  [Exit  above. 

40  Iago.  Farewell;  for  I must  leave  you: 

It  seems  not  meet,  nor  wholesome  to  my  place, 

To  be  produced  — as,  if  I stay,  I shall  — 

Against  the  Moor:  for,  I do  know,  the  state, 


Otljcfto. 


3 ago.  ^Better,  $err,  ibr  feib  einer  non  benen,  bie®ott  nid)t 
blenen  pollen,  toenn’§  ibnen  ber  Xeufel  befieblt.  2Bemt  loir 
fontmen,  end)  einen  S)ienft  ftit  tf)un  unb  ibr  benft,  toir  finb 
Sfkufbotbe,  toollt  ib)r  etnen  23erberf)engft  iiber  eure  £od)ter 
5 fontmen  laffen,  toollt  it)x  (£nfel,  bie  end)  antoiebern,  toollt 
9tennbferbe  SBettern  unb  getter  &u  Steffen  ^aben.  — 
23rab.  28er  bift  bit,  freezer  Sdft’rer? 
g a ego.  Qd)  bin  etner,  §err,  ber  end)  ju  tnelben  fomntt,  baf) 
enre  Sodjter  unb  ber  9D?obr  jefct  babei  finb,  ba§  ^ier  mit 
10  jtoei  Dtitcfen  p mad)en. 

23rab.  3)u  bift  ein  ©djurfe! 

3 ago.  3b*  feib  — ein  (Senator. 

23rab.  $>u  foUft  bie§  bitten;  id)  fen ne  bid),  2?obrigo. 
fRob.  34  tnitt  fitr  alle3  einfteb’n;  bod)  id)  bitt’  end), 

15  3ftr^  euer  2Bunfd)  unb  tooblbebcid)t’ge  2Bei§f)eit 
(28ie’3  faft  ntir  fdjeint),  baft  eure  f cl)  one  £od)ter 
3n  biefer  f(pdten  ©titnbe  bumJpfer  9tad)t 
2Birb  auSgeliefert  — beffer  nid)t  nocb  fcb)ted)ter 
23  e to  ad)  t,  al§  burd)  ’nen  feinen  ©onbolier  — 

20  ^)en  rot)en  Stiffen  eitte§  iipp’gen  9ftobren? 

2Sentt  if)r  ba§  toifd  unb  einOerftanben  feib, 

@o  t^aten  loir  eud)  groben,  fredjen  ©djintpf. 

£)od)  toif)t  ifjr^  nid)t,  bann  fagt  mir  ©itt’  unb  ?lnftanb, 
3br  fd)eltet  un§  mit  ilnred)t.  dimmer  glaubt, 

25  $)afj,  atlem  ©inn  fitr  §oflid)feit  entfreuioet, 

34  fo  ^nnt  ©d)er$  mit  eurer  28iirbe  fbielte. 
du’r  $inb,  toenn  ibr  itjm  nid)t  ©rlaubniS  gabt  — 

3d)  fag’§  nod)  eimnal  — t)at  fid)  fd)toer  Oevgangen, 

©o  ©d)bnt)eit,  ®eift,  teratogen  au^guliefern ' 

30  ^ent  t)einiatlo§  nnfteten  2lbenteurer 

23o n bier  unb  itberad.  ©leid)  itber^eugt  eud),  §err; 

3ft  fie  int  ©d)lafgemad),  fa  nnr  ^u  £>aufe, 

Safd  auf  mid)  lo3  ber  fRepublif  ©efette, 

2Beit  icf)  end)  fo  betrog. 

&5  23rab.  ©djlagt  geuer!  bo! 

©ebt  mir  ’ne  ^er^e!  2Sedt  all’  nteiite  Sente! 

2) er  forfait  fiebt  niebt  ungleid)  meinent  Xraitnt: 

3) er  ©laube  b’ran  brobt  fd)on  mid)  oerniebteu. 

Sicbt  fag’  id),  Sid)t!  — • [©efjt  ab 

40  3 <*  9 Sebt  toobl ! id)  muff  eud)  laffen. 

& fdjeint  nid)t  gut,  nod)  beilfcmt  meiner  ©telle, 

©tellt  man  al£  geugen  mid)  — unb  bleib’  id),  fo  gefd)iebt’§  — 
$)em  ^Robren  nor;*  benn  unfer  ©taat,  id)  toeifc*  e§, 


OTHELLO, 


However  this  may  gall  him  with  some  check, 

Cannot  with  safety  cast  him,  for  he’s  embark’d 
With  such  loud  reason  to  the  Cyprus  wars, 

Which  even  now  stand  in  act,  that,  for  their  souls, 

5 Another  of  his  fathom  they  have  none, 

To  lead  their  business:  in  which  regard, 

Though  I do  hate  him  as  I do  hell-pains, 

Yet,  for  necessity  of  present  life, 

I must  show  out  a flag  and  sign  of  love, 

10  Which  is  indeed  but  sign.  That  you  shall  surely  And  him, 
Lead  to  the  Sagittary  the  raised  search ; 

And  there  will  I be  with  him.  So,  farewell.  [Exit. 

Enter , below , Bbabantio,  and  Servants  with  torches. 

15  Bra.  It  is  too  true  an  evil : gone  she  is ; 

And  what’s  to  come  of  my  despised  time 
Is  nought  but  bitterness.  — Now,  Roderigo, 

Where  didst  thou  see  her?  — 0 unhappy  girl!  — 

AVith  the  Moor,  say’st  thou?  — Who  would  be  a father! 

20  How  didst  thou  know  ’twas  she?  — 0,  she  deceives  me 
Past  thought!  — What  said  she  to  you?  — Get  more 
tapers ; 

Raise  all  my  kindred.  — Are  they  married,  think  you? 
Rod.  Truly,  I think  they  are.  [blood!  — 

25  Bra.  0 heaven!  — How  got  she  out!  — 0 treason  of  the 
Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters’  minds 
By  what  you  see  them  act.  — Is  there  not  charms 
By  which  the  property  of  youth  and  maidhood 
May  he  abus’d?  Have  you  not  read,  Roderigo, 

30  Of  some  such  thing? 

Rod.  Yes,  sir,  I have  indeed. 

Bra.  Call  up  my  brother.  — 0,  would  you  had  had  her! 
Some  one  way,  some  another.  — Ho  you  know 
Where  we  may  apprehend  her  and  the  Moor? 

35  Rod.  I think  I can  discover  him,  if  you  please 
To  get  good  guard  and  go  along  with  me. 

Bra.  Pray  you,  lead  on.  At  every  house  I’ll  call; 

I may  command  at  most.  — Get  weapons,  ho! 

And  raise  some  special  officers  of  night. 

40  On,  good  Roderigo:  I’ll  deserve  your  pains.  [Exeunt. 


7 


DlTjeffo. 


9®enn  ibn  bie§  gleid)  etum§  Oerbunfeln  totrb, 

®ann  ibn  nid)t  fallen  laffen;  bettn  e§  forbert 
<3o  triffger  ©runb  ibn  fur  ben  (ft)bernfrieg, 

$)er  je£t  beOorftebt,  baft  urn  feinen  s$rei§ 

5 ©in  tob'xcr  Oon  ber  gabigfeit  fid)  fdnbe 

S2U§  gul)ier  btefe§  gug§ ; in  melcber  9ftiicffid)t, 

Cb gleid)  id)  ibn  mie  ^oflenqualen  ftaffe, 

3Seit  mid)  bte  gegenmcirt’ge  Sage  gmingt, 

3d)  auftieb’n  lititft  ber  Siebe  gdagg’  unb  geicben, 

10  Jyreitid)  at§  geicben  nur.  3)af}  iftr  i bn  ficfter  finbet, 
fyitftrt  jette  @ud)enben  $um  @d)ut^en  bin: 

2>ort  merb*  id)  bei  ibm  jein.  Unb  fo  lebtmobl!  [Sago  gd)t  af». 

SBraOaittio  tritt  aitf  mi t $)ienertt  intb  f^acfetn. 

15  55rab.  gu  ma!)r  nnr  ift  bie§  Unglue! ! @ie  ift  fort, 

Unb  ma§  mir  nad)bteibt  oom  oerbafjten  Seben, 

3ft  nid)t§  al§  35itterfeit.  — 9cun  fag’,  Oftobrigo, 

9So  ftaft  bu  fie  gefeb'n?  — £),  jtbaric£)t  ®inb!  — 

3)er  90ftobr,  fagft  bu?  — dBer  modjte  Skater  feiu?  — 

20  3Sie  tueiftt  bu/bafj  fier§  mar?  — £),  unerijort 

93etriigt  fie  mid)!  9&a§  fbrad)  fie?  — .ftott  nod)  gacfeln! 
3ftuft  atte  meine  ^Settern ! — 6inb  fie  mob! 

35ermdb!t,  ma§  gtaubft  bu? 

9ft  ob.  9ftun,  id)  gtaube,  fa. 

25  93rab.  £)  ©ott!  98ie  fant  fie  fort?  £)  $BIut$Oerrat ! 

Xraut,  belter,  ftirtfort  euren  5tbd)tern  nie 
9ftad)  au|erdid)em  £bun  ♦ ©iebt’3  feinen  gauber, 

S)er  3uQcnb  ltnfd)u!b  unb  be§  9Jftdbd)entum§ 
gu  tboren?  Saft  it) r nie  oon  fotdien  Bingen, 

30  9ftobrigo? 

3ft  ob.  1 3a,  ©ignor,  id)  ta§  e§  mob!. 

35  r a b.  9ftuft  meinen  Gruber.  — 9Bdr7  fie  euer  bod) ! — 

3br  b^r,  bie  3!nbern  bortbin!  — §abt  ibr  ®unbfd)aft, 

9Bo  mir  fie  finben  mogen  mit  bem  9Jftobren? 

35  9ft  ob.  3d)  boffr  ibn  au^ufbab'n,  mennr§  end)  gefaftt, 

9Jftit  tixd)tiger  35ebedung  mir  511  fotgen. 

93rab.  28ot)t,  fubrt  ben  gu9-  $or  jebetn  fmufe  ruf  id); 
2Benn’§  gilt,  fann  id)  befeftlen.  28affen  bet! 

Unb  bolt  ein  $aar  |mubtleute  oon  ber  S5ad)e; 

40  95oran,  9ftobrigo!  eure  9Jftitbr  Oergelf  id). 

[<Sie  gefjett  a6. 


7 


OTHELLO. 


Scene-  II.  Another  Street. 

Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Attendants  with  torches . 

5 Iago.  Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I have  slain  men, 

Yet  do  I hold  it  very  stuff  o'  the  conscience 
To  do  no  contriv'd  murder : I lack  iniquity 
Sometimes  to  do  me  service:  nine  or  ten  times 
I had  thought  to  have  yerk'd  him  here  under  the  ribs. 
10  Oth.  'Tis  better  as  it  is. 

Iago.  Nay,  but  he  prated, 

And  spoke  such  scurvy  and  provoking  terms 
Against  your  honour, 

That,  with  the  little  godliness  I have, 

15  I did  full  hard  forbear  him.  But,  I pray  you,  sir, 

Are  you  fast  married?  Be  assured  of  this, 

That  the  magnifico  is  much  beloved; 

And  hath,  in  his  effect,  a voice  potential 
As  double  as  the  duke's:  he  will  divorce  you; 

20  Or  put  upon  you  what  restraint  and  grievance 

The  law  — with  all  his  might  to  enforce  it  on  — 

Will  give  him  cable. 

Oth.  Let  him  do  his  spite: 

My  services  which  I have  done  the  signiory 
25  Shall  out-tongue  his  complaints.  'Tis  yet  to  know,  — 
Which,  when  I know  that  boasting  is  an  honour, 

I shall  promulgate  — I fetch  my  life  and  being 
From  men  of  royal  siege  and  my  demerits 
May  speak,  unbonneted  to  as  proud  a fortune 
30  As  this  that  I have  reach'd:  for  know,  Iago, 

But  that  I love  the  gentle  Desdemona, 

I would  not  my  unhoused  free  condition 

Put  into  circumscription  and  confine 

For  the  sea's  worth.  But,  look!  what  lights  come  yond? 

Enter  Cassio,  and  certain  Officers  with  torches. 

Iago.  Those  are  the  raised  father  and  his  friends: 

You  were  best  go  in. 

Oth.  Not  I;  I must  be  found: 

40  My  parts,  my  title,  and  my  perfect  soul 
Shall  manifest  me  rightly.  Is  it  they? 

Iago . By  Janus,  I think  no. 

Oth.  The  servants  of  the  duke,  and  my  lieutenant. 

8 


DttjcITo. 


3mette  (Sine  ©trafse. 


<£§  treten  auf  Dt^ctto,  3^9  o unb  ©cforge. 

Sago.  Sm  MiegeSIjanbtoerf  fd)Ing  id)  mand;eit  tot; 

2) od)  Jjalt*  id)r§  fiir  ©emiffenSfadj'  nn b ©iinbe, 

SWit  Slbfidjt  mor ben;  traun,  mix  feoffs  an  SSoS^eit, 
Unb  oft  511  nteinent  ©dfjaben.  ghmnaigmal 

3) ad)f  id),  if)m  mit  rnem  ^itotoenftofe  ut  bienen! 

DU).  ^ ift  beffer  fo. 

Sago-  3)od)  fdjtt>a|f  er  fo!d)e§  Qeug 

Unb  fbrad)  fo  fdjnob*  unb  gegen  enre  (£bre 
©0  lafterlid), 

®afj  all  mein  bi§d)en  grotnmigfeit  mid)  fannt 
Qnt  giigel  b)ielt.  3)od)  fagt  ntir,  roerter  §err, 

©eib  ifjr  and)  red)t  bermdt)lt?  £)enn  glanbt  mix  nur, 
©ar  feijr  beliebt  ift  ber  Sftagnifico,  * ■ 

Unb  bat  bitrd)pfeben  frdffge  ©timme, 

$8oltnnd)tig  tone  ber  giirft.  (Sr  rnirb  end)  fc^eiben, 

Qinn  minb’ften  ^ciuft  er  £>emmnng  nnb  Serbrufi, 

SSie  nnr  ba§  9?ec^t,  bnrd)  feine  flfeadbt  qefcbdrft, 
©^Mrautn  „giebt. 

DU).  @r  mag  fein2lrgfte§  tt)!m ; 

3)er  3)ienft,  ben  id)  geleiftet  bem  ©enat, 

©d)reit  feine  Mage  nieber.  Innb  foil  toerben 
— 28a§,  toenn  mir  lunb,  baft  ^ral)ten  (Sbre  brinqt 
Sd)  offenbaren  tnid  — baft  id)  entfprofe 
!bniglid)ent  ©tantm,  nnb  mein  ©eftlrn 
3)arf  ofjne  ©d)eu  fo  fio^eS  ©liid  anfrredjen, 
bie§,  ba§  id)  erreid)t.  &enn  miffe,  Sago, 

Siebt’  id)  bie  ftolbe  3)e§bentona  nid)t, 

9?ie  Jtoanfl’  id)  nteinen  forgtoS  freien  ©tanb 

23nnb’  unb  @d)ranfen  ein,  nidjt  um  bie  ©djafee 
$er  tiefen  See.  $od)  fietj!  3BoS  bort  fiir  Sidjter? 


a f f i 0 tomntt  mit  ©efotge. 

3ago.  $>er  jorn’ge  SBater  ift  e8  mit  ben  greunben  — 
©et)t  bod)  ^inein ! 

, Sd)  nid)t!  man  foil  mid)  finben. 
iltetn  ©tcmbunb  Kang  unb  meine  fefte  ©eete 
Sant  foil 'n  fie  fiir  mid)  geugen!  — ©inb  e3  iene? 
Sago.  S3et  3ann§,  nein ! 

0tb-  $er$og§  Wiener  finb  e§  nnb  mein  Sientenanf. 


OTHELLO. 

The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you,  friends! 

What  is  the  news? 

Cas.  The  duke  does  greet  you,  general; 

And  he  requires  your  haste-post-haste  appearance, 

5 Even  on  the  instant. 

Oth.  What  is  the  matter,  think  you? 

Cas.  Something  from  Cyprus,  as  I may  divine: 

It  is  a business  of  some  heat:  the  galleys 
Have  sent  a dozen  sequent  messengers 
10  This  very  night  at  one  another’s  heels, 

And  many  of  the  consuls,  rais’d  and  met, 

Are  at  the  duke’s  already:  you  have  been  hotly  call’d  for; 
When,  being  not  at  your  lodging  to  be  found, 

The  senate  hath  sent  about  three  several  quests 
15  To  search  you  out. 

Oth.  ’Tis  well  I am  found  by  you. 

I will  but  spend  a word  here  in  the  house, 

And  go  with  you.  [Exit, 

Cas.  Ancient,  what  makes  he  here? 

20  Iago.  ’Faith,  he  to-night  hath  boarded  a land  carack: 

If  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he’s  made  for  ever. 

Cas,  I do  not  understand. 

Iago . He’s  married. 

Cas.  To  who  ? 

25  Re-enter  Othello. 

Iago.  Marry,  to  — Come,  captain,  will  you  go? 

Oth.  Have  with  you. 

Cas.  Here  comes  another  troop  to  seek  for  you. 

30  Iago.  It  is  Brabantio.  General,  be  advis’d; 

He  comes  to  bad  intent. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Roderigo,  and  Ofiicers  with  torches  and 
weapons. 

Oth.  Holla!  stand  there! 

35  Rod.  Signior,  it  is  the  Moor. 

Bra.  Down  with  him.  thief! 

[They  draw  o?i  both  sides. 
Iago.  You,  Roderigo!  come  sir,  I am  for  you.  [them, 
Oth.  Keep  up  your  bright  swords,  for  the  dew  will  rust 
40  Good  signior,  you  shall  more  command  with  years 
Than  with  your  weapons. 

Bra.  0 thou  foul  thief,  where  hast  thou  stow’d  my  daughter? 
Damn’d  as  thou  art,  thou  hast  enchanted  her; 

9 


Ottjello. 


@ei  eud)  bie  fftadft  gebeitftdj,  nietrte  greunbe! 

28a§  giebf§?  — 

©af.  i)er  ^fer^oq  eud),  (General, 
llnb  forbert,  oa|  tfjr  fdjnell,  bli|fd)netl  erfefyeint 
5 3m  ?tugenoticf. 

£)tt).  3Ba$,  meint  itjr,  ift  int  SSerl?  — 

(Saf.  (Stum§  au§  (St)bern,  menu  id)  recf)t  tier  mute; 

;§  ift  ein  ©efdjdft  turn  beijjer  ©U’:  bie  gtotte 
SSerfdjicff  ein  Smbenb  23oten  nad)  einanber, 

10  9cod)  biefen  2lbenb,  bie  gebrangt  fief)  fotgten, 

SSiel  .Sperrn  tiom  Dial,  gemeeft  itnb  fd)on  oerfammelt, 

0inb  jebt  beim  §er$og;  eifrig  fud)t  man  end), 

Hub  ba  "man  eud)  Perfect  in  eurer  2$otjnung, 

£>at  ber  @enat  brei  §aitfen  au^gefanbt, 

15  (Sud)  §u  erfbdl)’n. 

Ott).  ift  gut,  baf]  itjr  mid)  fanbet. 

(Sin  3Sort  nur  taff  id)  I)ier  guritef  tm  £>aufe 

Itnb  folg'  end)  nad).  [©etjt  ab. 

(Saf.  * $df)nbrtd),  ma§  fd^afft  er  §ier  ? — 

20  3a9°-  $un,  etne  &anbgateere  nabnt  er  f>e uf ; 

(Sr  mad)t  fein  ©titd,  memt'3  gute  Strife  mirb. 

(Saf.  9®ie  meint  itfr  ba§? 

3 ago.  (Sr  ift  bermatjlt. 

(Saf.  fftit  mem?  — 

25 

Otbctlo  fontnit  gimici 

3 ago.  (Si  nun,  mit ®ommt  it)r,  mein  (General?  — 

£>tf).  3d)  bin  bereit. 

(Saf.  .frier  nat)t  ein  anb'rer  Xrubb,  eud)  auf^ufudjen. 

30  3 ago*  (S3  ift  23rabantio  — fafjt  eud),  (General!  — 

(Sr  ftnnt  auf  $ofe3! 

33rabantio,  Sfiobtigo  unb  SBetoaffitete  U'etert  auf. 

Dtl).  frotta!  6teltt  eud)  t)ier!  — 

35  ftob.  @ignor,  e3  ift  ber  9[ftot)t! 

SBrab.  ' ®ieb ! Odjlagt  itfn  nieber. 

[$8ort  beiben  (Seitcrt  Herbert  bie  (Sdjwerter  ge^ogen. 

3 ago.  3£obrigo,  it)r?  ®ommt,  frerr!  3$  fiin  fiir  eud). 

0t1).  3)ie  btanfen  (Sdjmerter  fort!  (Bie  modjten  roften.  — 

40  $)a§  fitter  tjitft  eud)  beffer,  guter  .frerr, 

2113  euer  S)egen. 

23rab.  £)  fdjnober  3)ieb!  28a3  marb  au3  meiner  £od)ter? 
®u  tjaft,  oerbatnmter  grenler,  fie  be^aubert; 


2 


OTHELLO. 


For  I'll  refer  me  to  ail  things  of  sense, 

If  she  in  chains  of  magic  were  not  bound, 

Whether  a maid  so  tender,  fair  and  happy, 

So  opposite  to  marriage  that  she  shunn’d 
5 The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation, 

Would  ever  have,  to  incur  a general  mock, 

Run  from  her  guardage  to  the  sooty  bosom 
Of  such  a thing  as  thou,  to  fear,  not  to  delight. 

Judge  me  the  world,  if  ’tis  not  gross  in  sense 
10  That  thou  hast  practis’d  on  her  with  foul  charms, 
Abus’d  her  delicate  youth  with  drugs  or  minerals 
That  weaken  motion:  — I’ll  have  ’t  disputed  on; 

’Tis  probable  and  palpable  to  thinking. 

I therefore  apprehend  and  do  attach  thee 
15  For  an  abuser  of  the  world,  a practiser 
Of  arts  inhibited  and  out  of  warrant. 

Lay  hold  upon  him:  if  he  do  resist, 

Subdue  him  at  his  peril. 

Oth . Hold  your  hands, 

20  Both  you  of  my  inclining,  and  the  rest : 

Were  it  my  cue  to  fight,  1 should  have  known  it 
Without  a prompter.  Where  will  you  that  I go 
To  answer  this  your  charge? 

Bra . To  prison;  till  fit  time 

Of  law  and  course  of  direct  session 
Call  thee  to  answer. 

Oth . What  if  I do  obey? 

How  may  the  duke  be  therewith  satisfied, 

Whose  messengers  are  here  about  my  side, 

30  Upon  some  present  business  of  the  state 
To  bring  me  to  him? 

First  Off.  ’Tis  true,  most  worthy  signior; 

The  duke’s  in  council,  and  your  noble  self, 

I’m  sure,  is  sent  for. 

35  Bra . How!  the  duke  in  council! 

In  this  time  of  the  night!  — Bring  him  away: 

Mine’s  not  an  idle  cause:  the  duke  himselt, 

Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  state, 

Cannot  but  feel  this  wrong  as  ’twere  their  own* 

40  For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 

Bond-slaves  and  pagans  shall  our  statesmen  be, 

[Exeunt 


10 


Dttyclfo. 


®enn  ade§,  ma§  SSernunft  ftegt,  mli  id)  frageit, 

SSemt  nid)t  eitt  ntagifcft  S3anb  fie  ftatt  gefangeu, 

Ob  eine  3unqfrau/jart  unb  fd)bn  nub*  glitcflid), 

@o  abftolb  ber  SSerntaftlung,  baft  fie  ffoft 
5 S)en  reicften  SimglingSabel  unfrer  ©tabt, 

06  fie,  ein  adgemeiit  ©efpbtt  ju  merben, 

©au§Iicftent  ©litd  entfloft  an  folcfteS  Unftotb§ 
$ecftfd)mar§e  33ruft,  bie  ©rau'n,  nicftt  £uft  erregt? 

4)ie  Sftfett  foil  rieftten,  ob'3  nid)t  fonnenftar, 

10  $>aft  bit  niit  ©bdenhmft  auf  fie  gewirft, 

sDUt  ©ift  unb  Xranf  oedodt  iftr  $arte§  filter, 

2)en  ©inn  §u  fdjmacften:  — unterfueften  fod  manr§; 
®enn  gtaubftaft  ift%  ftanbgreiftid)  bent  ®ebanfen. 

2) rum  neftin'  id)  bid)  in  ©aft  unb  ^eifte  bid) 

15  5113  etnen  S3oIf3betftorer,  einen  Qaub’rer, 

SDer  unertaubte,  66fe  ®iinfte  treibt.  — 

£egt  §anb  an  iftn,  unb  feftt  er  fid)  $ur  SSeftr, 
gliungt  iftn,  nnb  g iitt'3  fein  Seben. 

Otft.  ' ©teftt  fturitd, 

20  Qftr,  bie  fitt  mid)  ^artei  neftmt,  nnb  iftr  5lnbern!  — 
5Bar  gecftteit  ntcine  Sftode,  nun,  bie  ttmftf  id) 

5tud)  oftne  ©tidftmort.  — S&oftin  fod  id)  fotgen 
Unb  enter  ,fHage  fteft'n  ? 

S3  tab.  ’ 3 n ©aft;  bi3  geit  nnb  gotnt 

25  ^auf  be3  graben  9^ed)t§derftbr§  bid)  ruft 

gur  Slnttnort. 

Otft.  SSie  benn  nun,  menu  id)  geftoreftte?  — 

SSie  fame  ba3  bent  ©er(^og  iooftt  erumnfcftt, 

£)e3  S3oten  ftier  an  meiner  ©eite  fteft'n, 

30  ^Jiicft  megen  bringenben  ®efcftaft3  im  ©tacit 
S3or  iftn  \vl  fiiftren? 

($erid)t3b.  ©o  ift%  eftrttmrb’ger  ©err; 

£)er  ©er^og  fitd  ^u  £ftat,  unb  duet  ($naben 
S$arb~  fiefter  and)  beftedt. 

35  S3rab.  Sftat  ber  ©er^og?  — 

Setjt  urn  bie  5Jlitternad)t?  — giiftrt  iftn  baftin; 

9Ud)t  fd)ted)t  ift  mein  ®efucft.  3)er  ©er^og  felbft 
Unb  fegtidfter  don  meinen  5lmt3genoffen 
DJhtft  fiiftlen  meine  ®ranfung  mie  fein  eigen: 

40  3)emt  laftt  man  fotcfte  Untftat  ftraflo3  flatten, 

SSirb  ©eib’  unb  ©ftad'  bet  un3  al3  ©errfcfter  inatten. 

[©ie  getjeit  aO 


10 


2* 


OTHELLO. 


Scene  III.  A Council- Chamber. 

The  Duke  and  Senators,  sitting  at  a table;  Officers  attending. 

5 Duke.  There  is  no  composition  in  these  news 
That  gives  them  credit. 

First  Sen.  Indeed,  they’re  disproportion’d ; 

My  letters  say  a hundred  and  seven  galleys. 

Duke.  And  mine,  a hundred  and  forty. 

10  Sec.  Sen.  And  mine,  two  hundred: 

But  though  they  jump  not  on  a just  account,  — 

As  in  these  cases,  where  the  aim  reports, 

’Tis  oft  with  difference,  — yet  do  they  all  confirm 
A Turkish  fleet,  and  bearing  up  to  Cyprus. 

15  Duke.  Nay,  it  is  possible  enough  to  judgment: 

I do  not  so  secure  me  in  the  error, 

But  the  main  article  I do  approve 
In  fearful  sense. 

Sailor.  \within\  What,  ho ! what,  ho ! what,  ho ! 

20  First  Off.  A messenger  from  the  galleys. 

Enter  a Sailor. 

Duke.  Now,  what’s  the  business? 

Sail.  The  Turkish  preparation  makes  for  Rhodes; 

25  So  was  I bid  report  here  to  the  state 
By  Signior  Angelo. 

Duke.  How  say  you  by  this  change? 

First  Sen.  This  cannot  be, 

By  no  assay  of  reason:  ’tis  a pageant, 

30  To  keep  us  in  false  gaze.  When  we  consider 
The  importancy  of  Cyprus  to  the  Turk, 

And  let  ourselves  again  but  understand, 

That  as  it  more  concerns  the  Turk  than  Rhodes, 

So  may  he  with  more  facile  question  bear  it, 

35  For  that  it  stands  not  in  such  warlike  brace, 

But  altogether  lacks  the  abilities 

That  Rhodes  is  dress’d  in:  — if  we  make  thought  of  this, 
We  must  not  think  the  Turk  is  so  unskilful 
To  leave  that  latest  which  concerns  him  first, 

40  Neglecting  an  attempt  of  ease  and  gain, 

To  wake  and  wage  a danger  profitless. 

Duke.  Nay,  in  all  confidence,  he’s  not  for  Rhodes. 

First  Of.  Here  is  more  news. 

U 


©tfjetto. 


flriiie  Sjeitc.  ©in  @aa(  ttn  l)er  jogiidjen  $alaft. 

2)er  .^erjog  nnb  Me  Sen  at  or  eu,  an  einer  Xafel  ft^enb. 

5 .^er^.  Qn  biefen  SBriefen  fefjlt  Qufantntenbang, 

Ser  fie  beglaubigt. 

(Sr  ft.  ©enat.  Qa  toof)I,  fie  meid)en  bon  einanber  ab; 

sJftein  ©djreiben  nennt  ntir  ^unbert  fed)§  ®aleeren. 

§er$.  Unb  meine§  ^unbert  bier^ig. 

10  3 toe  it.  ©enat.  9ftein§  ^toeifyunbert. 

Sod)  ftintmt  bte  3al)l  and)  nidjt  genau  pfantmen  — 
2Bie  in^gentein,  menu  fie  ($eriid)te  ntelben, 

Ser  gnljalt  abtoeid)t  — bod)  ernmtjnen  atte 
Ser  tiirffdjen  $lotte,  bte  gen  (St)bern  fegelt. 

15  |>er§.  dtetoif),  ertoagen  nrir§,  fo  fdjeiut  e§  glaublid); 

3d)  mill  mid)  nid)t  im  Qrrtum  ficfjer  fdjatjen, 

$ielnte1)r  ben  £auptartifel  fyalf  id)  toaI)r, 

Unb  gurdjt  ergreift  mid). 

9ftatr.  (braufien.)  ! l^aXXo ! ballo!  — 

20 

©in  SBeamter  tritt  auf,  bem  ein  Sftatrofe  fotgt. 

learnt.  23otfd)aft  bon  ben  ®aleeren! 

£>er$.  Sftun?  sBa§  aiebfS!  — 

§latr.  Ser  Siirfen  $rieg§betoegung  gefjt  nad)  9Ujobu§; 

25  ©o  toarb  ntir  2luftrag,  bent  ©enat  jit  ntelben, 

$on  ©ignor  Angelo. 

§ex*5.  3Sie  biinlt  ber  28ed)fel  end)?  — 

©r ft.  ©enat.  ©o  fa:tnT§  nid)t  feinr 

$ftad)  feinent  ©runb  unb  gug ; e3  ift  ?ne  WlaZU, 

30  Sen  S3ticf  un§  fef)l  ju  leiten.  lenten  mir, 

5Bie  toid)tig  (Silent  fur  ^en  Siirfen  fei 
Unb  toieberum,  geftelj’n  loir  felber  ein, 

Safj,  mier3  bem  Stiffen  ntel)r  berlobnt  al§  ^obu§, 

(Sr  and)  mit  leicf)term  ^tufroanb  fid)r§  erobert, 

35  Sietoeil  e§  nid)t  fo  frieg§geriiftet  fteljt 
Unb  alter  2Bef)r  nnb  geftigfeit  entbeljrt, 

9ttit  ber  fic^  Stljo&uS  fd)irmt;  rner  bie§  ertoagt, 

Ser  toirb  ben  Stiffen  nid)t  fo  tf) orient  acfjten, 

Sa§  9?ad)ftgelegne  bi§  ^uletd  gu  fparen 
40  Unb,  Ieid)tert  forfeit  unb  ®eioinn  berfciumenb, 

9htfclo§  ©efabr  junt  $ambfe  fid)  $u  meden. 

£>er$.  3a,  feib  genrif),  er  benft  an  9U)°&U3  nidjt, 
learnt,  ©eljt!  Weue  SBotfc^aft ! — 
li 


OTHELLO. 


Enter  a Messenger. 

Mess.  The  Ottomites,  reverend  and  gracious, 

Steering  with  due  course  towards  the  isle  of  Rhodes, 
Have  there  injointed  them  with  an  after  fleet. 

5 First  Sen.  Ay,  so  I thought.  How  many,  as  you 
guess  ? 

Mess.  Of  thirty  sail:  and  now  they  do  re-stem 
Their  backward  course,  bearing  with  frank  appearance 
Their  purposes  toward  Cyprus.  Signior  Montano, 

10  Your  trusty  and  most  valiant  servitor, 

With  his  free  duty  recommends  you  thus, 

And  prays  you  to  believe  him. 

Duke.  ’Tis  certain,  then,  for  Cyprus.  — 

Marcus  Luccicos,  is  not  he  in  town  ? 

15  First  Sen.  He’s  now  in  Florence. 

Duke.  Write  from  us  to  him;  post-post-haste  dispatch. 

First  Sen.  Here  comes  Brabantio  and  the  valiant  Moor. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  Roderigo,  and  Ofticers. 

20  Duke.  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman.  — 

\To  Brabantio]  I did  not  see  you ; welcome,  gentle  signior; 
We  lack’d  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Bra.  So  did  I yours.  Good  your  grace,  pardon  me; 

25  Neither  my  place  nor  aught  I heard  of  business, 

Hath  rais’d  me  from  my  bed ; nor  doth  the  general  care 
Take  hold  on  me;  for  my  particular  grief 
Is  of  so  flood-gate  and  o’erbearing  nature 
That  it  engluts  and  swallows  other  sorrows 

30  And  it  is  still  itself. 

Duke.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Bra.  My  daughter!  0,  my  daughter! 

, Duke  and  Sen.  Dead? 

Bra.  Ay,  to  me; 

35  She  is  abus’d,  stol’n  from  me,  and  corrupted 

By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks; 

For  nature  so  preposterously  to  err, 

Being  not  deficient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense, 

Sans  witchcraft  could  not. 

40  Duke.  Whoe’er  he  be  that  in  this  foul  proceeding 
Hath  thus  beguil’d  your  daughter  of  herself 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter 
| 12 


Dtljetto. 


(Silt  33ote  tri tt  cntf. 

33ote.  ®te  Dttomanen,  roeife  gndb’ge  §errn, 

3n  grabem  &auf  §ur  Qnfel  9il)obu§  fteuernb, 

33ereinten  bort  fid)  mit  ber  ^ebenflotte. 

5 (St ft.  0enat.  Sftun  ja,  fo  bad)tr  id)  mit’3;  — ttrie  fiat!  art 
3al)I? 

33ote.  3ln  brei&ig  ©egel;  unb  jefct  iuenben  fie 
^Rudlenlenb  i^reu  8auf,  unb  oijrie  §el)l 
©ilt  if)  re  3lbfid)t  (£l)bern.  §err  Montano, 

10  (Su’r  feljr  getreuer  unb  better  Wiener, 

(Sntbeut  in  feiner  ^flidjt  end)  biefe  9tod)ridjt 
tlnb  f)offt,  if) x fdjenft  it) m ©lauben. 

^erj.  9cad)  (St)bern  bann  geibifj.  — 
s3ttarcu§  £ucd)efe,  ift  er  in  3$enebig?  — 

15  (Sr ft.  0enat.  (Sr  reifte  nad)  gdorenj. 

$ e r §.  ©djreibt  it)iu  turn  un§ ; fdjnell,  nrinbfdjnell  fommr  er ; eitt. 

§ r ft.  0enat.  gier  tmnmt  33rabantio  nub  ber  tapfre  9ftof)r. 

SBrabantio,  Dtljetto,  Sago,  Stobriflo  unb  ®e r id)t§bieit er 
trcteit  aitf. 

20  ®er&.  Stapfrer  Dtbello,  it)r  mitfjt  gleid)  in§  gelb 

58iber  ben  aUgemeinen  $einb,  ben  Xitrfeu. — [BuSra  bantio. 
Qd)  fed)'  end)  nidit ; miflfommen,  ebter  §err! 

Un3  feblt1  en’r  9tat  unb  33eiftanb  biefe  9£ad)t. 

33 tab.  Unb  enrer  mir,  mein  gitfger  $iirft,  bersefl&t  mir! 

25  sJUd)t  3lmt§beruf,  nod)  92ad)rid)t  bon  ®efd)dfteu 
5£rieb  mid)  bom  33ett;  nid)t  allgemeine  (gorge 
(Srfnttt  mid)  jetd : benu  mein  befonb'rer  GJram 
($deid)  einer  (ttyringflut  ftrbmt  fo  tnilb  baf)in, 

£>af}  er  berfd)tudt  nub  einfdgfingt  jebe  0orge, 

80  9htr  feiner  fid)  benmgt. 

§e  rj.  9htn.  ma3  gefd)af)? 

^3rab.  0 Xodjter!  £od)ter! 

(Sr ft.  0en.  0tarb  fie? 

33  r a b.  3a,  fur  mid). 

35  0ie  ift  befd)imf)ft,  entfiUjrt  mir  unb  berberbt 
3)urd)  ^ejenfiinfte  unb  Cuadjatbertranfe; 

3)enn  bag  ^atur  fo  miberfinnig  irre, 

S)a  fie  nid)t  ftumbf,  nod)  blinb,  nod)  blbbcn  0inn3, 

©efd)af)  nid)t  ot)ne  gauberfraft.  — 

40  £>et$.  ^er  e*  auc^)  Teb  ber  anf  fo  fd)nbbem  3Sege 
0o  enre  dodder  um  fid)  felbft  betrog, 

Unb  eud)  nut  fie,  — ba§  blufge  33ud)  be§  3?ed)t§, 

Qt)r  fottf  e§  felbft  in  fjerbfter  0trenge  beuten 
12 


OTHELLO, 


After  yonr  own  sense,  yea,  though  our  proper  son 
Stood  in  your  action. 

Bra.  Humbly  I thank  your  grace. 

Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor,  whom  now,  it  seems, 

5 Your  special  mandate  for  the  state-affairs 
Hath  hither  brought. 

Duke  and  Sen.  We’re  very  sorry  for  it. 

Duke.  [To  Othello]  What,  in  your  own  part,  can  you  say 
to  this? 

10  Bra.  Nothing,  hut  this  is  so. 

Oth.  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 

My  very  noble  and  approv’d  good  masters, 

That  I have  ta’en  away  this  old  man’s  daughter, 

It  is  most  true;  true,  I have  married  her: 

15  The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 

Hath  this  extent,  no  more.  Rude  am  I in  my  speech, 
And  little  bless’d  with  the  soft  phrase  of  peace; 

For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years’  pith, 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  us’d 
20  Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field, 

And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I speak, 

More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle, 

And  therefore  little  shall  I grace  my  cause 
In  speaking  for  myself.  Yet,  by  your  gracious  patience, 
25  I will  a round  unvarnish’d  tale  deliver 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 
What  conjuration  and  what  mighty  magic, 

For  such  proceeding  I am  charg’d  withal, 

I won  his  daughter. 

30  Bra.  A maiden  never  bold; 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blush’d  at  herself;  and  she  — in  spite  of  nature, 

Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing  — 

To  fall  in  love  with  what  she  fear’d  to  look  on  l 
35  It  is  a judgement  maim’d  and  most  imperfect 
That  will  confess  perfection  so  could  err 
Against  all  rules  of  nature,  and  must  be  driven 
To  find  out  practices  of  cunning  hell, 

Why  this  should  be.  I therefore  vouch  again 
40  That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o’er  the  blood, 

Or  with  some  dram  conjur’d  to  this  effect, 

He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke . To  vouch  this,  is  no  proof, 

13 


Olfjerfo. 


9?ad)  etgnem  ©inn,  unb  wax7  e§  unfer  ©of)U, 

$)ett  eure  Mage  trifft. 

£>xab.  34  bant7  in  $)entut  I 

§iex  btefer  ift7§,  ber  3tto§x,  ben  je$t,  [o  fd^ein t% 

5 (lu7x  bxingenbe§  ©ebot  int  ®ienft  be3  ©taat§ 

,fMext)ex  berief. 

51  lie.  3)a§  ttjut  un§  t)ex$tid)  Xeib. 

,§erj.  (6u  Ottjeiro.)  9®a§,  euxexfeitS,  nexmbgt  if)x  p ex- 
toibexn? 

10  SBxab.  $id)t§,  at§  bafe  bie§  bie  SBa^xtjeit. 

O t ^nr)iirbrger,  macbfger  nnb  exlaudjter  Dial, 

©efjr  eble,  ioot)texbxobte  gute  §exxn  — 

5Daf3  i4  bent  atten  9)?ann  bie  £od)tex  natjm, 

3ft  nbEig  toat)x;  toatjx,  fie  ift  mix*  nexma|lt. 

15  $ex  £tjatbeftanb  nnb  Untfang  nteinex  ©d)ttlb 

9ieid)t  fo  toeit,  toeitex  nid)t.  34  bin  non  xautjem  SBoxt 
llnb  fdt)Iecf)t  begabt  mit  mitbex  gxiebenSxebe. 

©eit  fiebenjat)x'7ge  ®xaft  mein  5lxm  getoarot, 

23i§  nox  neun  feonben  ettoa,  iibt7  ex  ftet§ 

20  $ux  Miege^at  im  getbe  toie  int  fiagex; 

Unb  toenig  texnt’  id)  non  bent  Sattf  bex  SBeft, 

5113  toa3  pm  ©txeit  ge^oxt  nnb  2®ext  bex  ©d)tad)t; 

2) xum  toenig  ©d)mud  roo^I  teit)7  t4  meittex  ©ad^e, 

Sfteb7  id)  fitx  mid).  Penned),  mit  ettxex  ©uuft, 

25  (Sxpt)l7  id)  fd)tid)t  nnb  ungefdxbt  ben  §exaang 
$on  nteinex  Siebe;  to a3  fitx  £xanf  unb  Minfte, 

5Ba3  fitx  33efd)tooxung,  toel4e§  Qaubex3  M'aft 
— S)enn  folcfjex  Vittel  ftet)r  i4  angeflagt  — 

3) ie  3ungfxau  mix  getoantt. 

30  53xab.  ' ' (Sitt  9Jidbcf)en,  fd)itd)texn, 

SSon  ®eift  fo  ftill  unb  fanft,  baf}  febe  9Xegung 
(Sxxbtenb  fd)toieg  — bie  fottte,  txo£  9tatux 
llnb  3u9enb,  ^atextanb  nnb  ©tanb,  unb  allent, 

$>a3  lieben,  toa3  it)x  ©xauen  fd)uf  p fet)7n?  — 

1 35  (Sin  txanfe§  llxteil  toax73,  ein  unnolltommne3, 

3)a3  roafjnt,  e3  ixxe  fo  $8oflfommenI)eit, 

©an&  bex  9?atux  entgegen:  fd)tobxen  muj3  man, 

2)af)  nux  be3  Xeufel3  Mmft  unb  Sift  bie3  aEe3 
Rn  tljun  nexmocfjt’.  92od)  einmat  bettit  be^aupt7  id), 

40  $)afj  ex  mit  Xxdnten,  it)xem  55tut  nexbexbli4, 

Unb  ftaubexfaft,  getoeifjt  511  fotd)em  55amt, 

51uf  fte  getoixtt. 

§ex5.  ' SBetjauptung,  nic^t  35etoei3; 

18 


OTHELLO. 


Without  more  wider  and  more  overt  test 
Than  these  thin  habits  and  poor  likelihoods 
Of  modern  seeming  do  prefer  against  him. 

First  Sen.  But,  Othello,  speak: 

5 Did  you  by  indirect  and  forced  courses 

Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid’s  affections? 

Or  came  it  by  request  and  such  fair  question 
As  soul  to  soul  affordeth? 

Oth.  I do  beseech  you, 

Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary 
10  And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father: 

If  you  do  iind  me  foul  in  her  report, 

The  trust,  the  office  I do  hold  of  you, 

Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
10  Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

Duke.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither. 

Oth.  Ancient,  conduct  them:  you  best  know  the  place. 

[Exeunt  Iago  and  Attendants 
And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 
20  I do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood, 

So  justly  to  your  grave  ears  I’ll  present 
How  I did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady’s  love, 

And  she  in  mine. 

Duke.  Say  it,  Othello. 

25  Qth.  Her  father  lov’d  me;  oft  invited  me; 

Still  question’d  me  the  story  of  my  life, 

From  year  to  year,  — the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I have  pass’d. 

I ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 

S3  To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it : 

Wherein  I spake  of  most  disastrous  chances, 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field; 

Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i’  the  imminent  deadly  breach ; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe 
35  And  sold  to  slavery,  of  my  redemption  thence, 

And  portance  in  my  travels’  history : 

Wherein  of  antres  vast  and  deserts  idle, 

Bough  quarries,  rocks  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  — such  was  the  process; 

40  And  of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 

The  Anthropophagi  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.  This  to  hear 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline: 


Dtfjciro. 


0tcl)t  end)  lein  flarer  geugniS  §it  ®ebot, 

2113  fold)'  unbaltbar  2fteinen,  fold)'  arntfeUger 
0d)eingrnnb  il)n  $u  befdjutbigen  nennag? 

(S r ft.  0enat.  3>o aj  fctgt,  Othello: 

5 £>abt  ibr  burd)  ^ebembeg'  unb  fitnftlid)  ^totngcnb 
SDer  Jungfrau  0inn  erobert  unb  nergiftet? 

£ber  burd)  2lntrag  unb  erlaubte§  Serbett, 

Sie  £>eis  an  .£)ei*5  fid)  toenbet? 

£tl).  34  erfud)'  end), 

io  gum  0d)ut;en  fenbet,  ruft  ba§  griiulein  fyex, 

11  nb  Uor  bent  Sater  ntag  fie  non  ntir  ^eugett. 

Hub  toerb’  id)  faljd)  erfitnben  burd)  il)r  Sort; 

$i4t  nur  Sertrau'n  unb  2lntt,  ba§  ibr  ntir  gabt, 

9J?ogt  ibr  ntir  nebnten,  ja  e§  treff  eu'r  0prud) 

15  9JceiVt  Seben  felbft. 

£>e r§.  §olt  ®e§bemona  ber. 

Dtb-  gmbnbricb,  gebt  mit,  ibr  nri§t  ben  Drt  ant  beften. 

Sago  urtb  ciitige  Oom  ©efotge  gcfjett  IjinauS. 
Unb  bi§  fie  fontmt,  fo  toal)r,  toie  id)  bent  .fMmntel 
20  Sefenne  nteine§  Slute§  fitnb'ge  3eble, 

0o  trenlid)  ntelb'  id)  eurem  ernften  0bu 
Sie  id)  getoaun  ber  fd)onen  gungfrau 
Unb  fie  ba§  meine. 

^erj.  0fn'ed)t,  £)tbello. 

25  Dtb-  3b^  Sater  liebte  mid),  lub  oft  mid)  ein, 

(£rforfd)te  nteine§  £ebeit§  fiattf  non  3abr 
gu  3obr:  bie  0d)lad)ten;  0turme,  04ieffal£toed)fel, 

0o  id)  beftanb. 

3d)  ging  e§  bur4,  bom  ®nabeualter  ber, 

30  Si§  auf  ben  Sugenblicf,  too  er  gefragt. 

0o  fprad)  id)  beitn  non  ntand)em  b or  ten  3all, 

$8  on  fd)rec!enber  ©efabr  $u  0ee  unb  Sattb; 

Sie  id)  um£  ^aar  bent  brob’nben  £ob  cntraun; 

Sie  utid)  ber  ftol^e  $einb  gefangen  nabtn, 

35  Unb  nticb  al§  0!lanr  neriaitft ; toie  id)  erlbfi, 

Unb  nteiner  Dveifen  tounbemode  gabrt: 

Sobei  non  toeiten  £)bblen,  toitften  ©terpen, 

0teinbritd)en,  gelfen,  bintmelboben  Bergen 
Ngu  melben  toar  im  gortgang  ber  ®efrf)id)te; 

40  Son  $annibalen,  bie  einanber  fd)lad)ten, 
sdntbro)30bbogen,  So  Hern,  berett  $obf 
Scid)ft  ttnter  ibrer  0d)ulter:  ba§  ^n  l)'6vm 
Sar  3)e$bemona  eifrig  ftet§  geneigt. 

14 


OTHELLO. 


But  still  the  house-affairs  would  draw  her  thence; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  dispatch, 

She’d  come  again,  and  with  a greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse:  which  I observing, 

5 Took  once  a pliant  hour,  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a prayer  of  earnest  heart 
That  I would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  intentively:  I did  consent, 

10  And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke 
That  my  youth  suffer’d.  My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a world  of  sighs: 

She  swore,  — in  faith,  ’twas  strange,  ’twas  passing  strange ; 
15  ’Twas  pitiful,  ’twas  wondrous  pitiful: 

She  wish’d  she  had  not  heard  it : yet  she  wish’d 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a man:  she  thank’d  me; 
And  bade  me,  if  I had  a friend  that  lov’d  her, 

I should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 

20  And  that  would  woo  her.  Upon  this  hint  I spake: 

She  lov’d  me  for  the  dangers  I had  pass’d ; 

And  I lov’d  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I have  us’d:  — 

Here  comes  the  lady;  let  her  witness  it. 


Enter  Desdemona  with  Iago  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  I think  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter  too. 
30  Good  Brabantio, 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best: 

Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use 
Than  their  bare  hands. 

Bra.  I pray  you,  hear  her  speak: 

35  If  she  confess  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 
Destruction  on  my  head,  if  my  bad  blame 
Light  on  the  man!  Come  hither,  gentle  mistress: 
Do  you  perceive  in  all  this  noble  company 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience? 

40  Des.  My  noble  father, 

I do  perceive  here  a divided  duty: 

To  you  I’m  bound  for  life  and  education; 

My  life  and  education  both  do  learn  me 
15 


Otl)cl(o, 


Oft  aber  rief  ein  $au§gefd)dft  fie  ab; 

Hub  i miner,  menn  fie  etlig  bie§  DoHbradjt, 

©leid)  font  fie  mieber,  unb  mil  burff  gem 
$8erfd)tang  fie  nteine  9^ebe.  $>ie§  bemerfenb, 

5 ©rfab  id)  einft  bie  giinfUge  ©limb*  unb  gab 
3br  9lnla6,  bajs  fie  mid)  red)t  ^erglid)  bat, 

£>ie  gan^e  fpilgerfdjaft  ibr  er^ablen, 

SSon'ber  fie  ftudmei§  ©ingelne§  getjbrt, 

$)od)  nid)t  in  ftrenger  golge.  3d)  begann, 

10  Unb  oftmalS  b^  id)  £bl’bnen  ibr  entlocft, 

SP?enn  id)  ein  leibDoII  s^tbenteu;r  berid)tet 
2tu§  meiner  Qugenb.  91 1§  id)  nnn  geenbigt, 

©ab  fie  $uni  £obn  mir  eine  SSelt  Don  ©eufftent: 

@ie  fdjmur  — in  $8abrbeit,  fettfant!  2Bunber[eltfam! 

15  Unb  ritbrenb  mar’§!  unenblid)  riibrenb  mar’3!  — 

0ie  ioiinfd)te,  baft  fier§  nidbt  gcbbrt;  bod)  miinjcbte  fie, 
3)er  £)immel  b abe  fie  al§  foId)eit  9Dtotn 
©efcftaffen,  nnb  fie  banfte  mir  nnb  bat  mid), 

28emt  je  ein  grennb  Don  mir  fie  lieben  follte, 

20  3d)  mbgr  ibn  bie  ©efd)id)tr  er^ablen  leftren, 

£)a§  miirbe  fie  geminnen.  9lnf  ben  9&int 
©rfldrf  id)  mid). 

6ie  liebte  mid),  met!  id)  ©efaftr  beftanb, 

Qd)  liebte  fie  unt  iftre§  9Kitleib§  mil ten: 

25  $)a§  ift  ber  gan^e  $auber,  ben  id)  braud)te; 

§ier  fommt  ba§  graulein,  laftt  fie  bie§  be^engen. 

3)e§bemona,  Sago  unb  ®efotge  treten  auf. 

$ex%.  9hm,  bie  ©efd)id)te  bait7  aud)  meine  Xodbter 
30  ©emomten.  ^Bitrbiger  23rabantio, 

Stfebmt,  toa§  Derfeb’n  marb,  Don  ber  beften  ©eite; 
sJ}?an  fid)t  bod)  lieber  mit  ^erbrod)nem  ©djmert, 

911§  mit  ber  bloften  §anb. 

23rab.  §brt  fie,  id)  bitf  eudb; 

35  33efennt  fie,  baft  fie  bolb  ibm  !am  entgegen, 

grind)  anf  mein  §anftt,  menu  meine  bttfre  Mage 
£)en  9Jiann  Derunglimftft!  — tomm'  berr  juttge  2)ame, 
9&en  fiebft  bu  bier  in  biefem  eblen  Mei§, 

3)em  bn  ^nmeift  ©eborfam  f(f)ulbig  bift? 

40  £)e§b.  9DMn  ebler  $8ater, 

Qd)  febe  bier  ^miefacb  geteilte  ^flidjt: 

©ud)  mitft  id)  Seben  banfen  nnb  ©r^iebung, 

Unb  Seben  unb  ©r§iebung  lebren  mid) 


OTHELLO. 


How  to  respect  you;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty,  — 

I’m  hitherto  your  daughter:  but  here’s  my  husband; 

And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  show’d 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father, 

5 So  much  I challenge  that  I may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor  my  lord. 

Bra.  God  he  with  you ! — I have  done.  — ; 

Please  it  your  grace,  on  to  the  state-affairs : 

I had  rather  to  adopt  a child  than  get  it.  — 

10  Come  hither,  Moor: 

I here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
I would  keep  from  thee.  — For  your  sake,  jewel, 

I’m  glad  at  soul  I have  no  other  child; 

15  For  thy  escape  would  teach  me  tyranny, 

To  hang  clogs  on  them.  — I have  done,  my  lord. 

Duke . Let  me  speak  like  yourself,  and  lay  a sentence, 
Which,  as  a grise  or  step,  may  help  these  lovers 
Into  your  favour. 

20  When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended 

By  seeing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  depended. 

To  mourn  a mischief  that  is  past  and  gone 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on. 

What  cannot  be  preserv’d  when  fortune  takes, 

25  Patience  her  injury  a mockery  makes. 

The  robb’d  that  smiles  steals  something  from  the  thief;  ' 
He  robs  himself  that  spends  a bootless  grief. 

Bra.  So  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile; 

We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we  can  smile. 

30  He  bears  the  sentence  well  that  nothing  bears 

But  the  free  comfort  which  from  thence  he  hears; 

But  he  bears  both  the  sentence  and  the  sorrow 
That,  to  pay  grief,  must  of  poor  patience  borrow. 

These  sentences,  to  sugar,  or  to  gall, 

35  Being  strong  on  both  sides,  are  equivocal: 

But  words  are  words;  I never  yet  did  hear 
That  the  bruis’d  heart  was  pierced  through  the  ear.  — - 
I humbly  beseech  you,  proceed  to  the  affairs  of  state.  ] 
Duke . The  Turk  with  a most  mighty  preparation  makes 
40  for  Cyprus . Othello,  the  fortitude  of  the  place  is  best  ] 
known  to  you;  and  though  we  have  there  a substitute 
of  most  allowed  sufficiency,  yet  opinion,  a sovereign 
mistress  of  effects,  throws  a more  safer  voice  on  you. 


OtCjetTo. 


©ud)  eijren;  it)r  feib  perrfdjer  metner  $ftid)t, 

2Bie  id)  eudj  Xodjter.  $)od)  tjter  ftefjt  mein  ©atte, 

Unb  jo  Diet  fpftid)t,  d§  meitte  Gutter  end) 

©e^eigt,  bci  fie  eud)  Dor^og  itjrent  SSater, 

@o  Dtet  muf$  idj  aud)  meiuent  fatten  roibnten, 

3)em  $D?ot)ren,  meineut  §errn. 

23  rob-  <^5ott  fei  mil  bir!  3$  Bin  $u  ©nbe. — 

©etiebt’§  ©u  r £)of)eit,  jetd  $it  ©taat^gefdjaften.  — 

D ^engt1  id)  nie  ein  ®inb  unb  roabtt'  ein  frembe§! 

Xxitt  ncifjer,  $cot)r! 

$ier  geb'  id)  bir  Don  gan^ein  £>er$en  Ijin, 

2£a§,  b)dtt  ft  bur§  nidjt,  id)  bir  bon  gan^em  §er^en 
$erroeigerte  — Urn  beinetroiflen,  5H’einob, 

@rfreut’§  mid),  bafj  tein  $roeite§  linb  mir  roarb; 

3)urd)  beine  gludjt  roar'  id)  tt)rannifd)  roorben 

Unb  Xegtr  if) r ®etten  an. 3d)  bin  §u  ©nbe. 

-&er§.  Qd)  reb'  an  eurer  ©tatt  unb  fail'  ein  itrteil, 

£)a§  einer  ©taffet  gteid)  ben  Siebenben 
SBetjiitftid)  fei. 

2Bem  nidjtS  meljt  $ilft,  ber  mufi  nid)t  ©ram  Derfdjroenben, 
Unb  roer  ba§  ©djlimntfte  fat),  bie  goffnung  enben; 

Unbeil  beltagen,  ba§  nidjt  metjr  $u  befferri, 

©etfet  urn  fo  metjr  ba§  Unveil  nur  Dergrofjern. 

3Ba§  nidjt  &u  retten,  laf*  bem  faljdjen  ©tiki 
Unb  gieb’  ©ebutb  fiir  ^ranlung  ibnt  pritd. 
gum  Danube  Iddjeftt,  Ijeifjt  ben  2)ieb  befte^Ien, 

®od)  felbft  beraubft  bu  bid)  burd)  nufeloS  Ouaten. 

23rab.  ©o  mbgt  if)r  ©bpern  nur  ben  feitrfen  gbnnen; 

3Btr  baben'§  nod),  fo  tang’  roir  Iddjetn  Ion nett. 

Seidjt  trdgt  ben  ©prudj,  roen  aubre  Saft  nidjt  briidt 
Unb  roen  ber  fetbftgefunbne  Xroft  erquidt; 

2) od)  fiibjtt  er  fein  ©eroicfjt  bei  roaf)ren  ©orgen, 

^ennr§  gilt,  turn  ber  ©ebutb  bie  flafilmtu  borqen. 

Sitter  unb  fiifj  finb  atP  berlei  ©enten^en, 

®ie,  fo  gebraudit,  an  9xedjt  unb  Unredjt  qremen; 

3) od)  SKort  bteibt  SBort  — nod)  bob’  id)  nie  getefen, 

®af3  burd)  ba§  Dfro  ein  franfe§  ^er^  genefen. 

— Scb  bitf  end)  inftdubig,  gef)'n  roir  an  bie  ©taatSqefdjdfte 
•per 5.  3)er  £itr!e  fegelt  mit  geroaltiger  firiegSruftunq  aeaeu 
©bbern.  CtMo,  eud)  ift  bie  geftigfeit  be§  0rt8  ant  beften 
befannt  unb  obgTetcf)  roir  bout  einen  ©tattoo Iter  Don  unbe< 
ftrittener  gdtjtgfeit  befifcen,  fo  begt  bod)  bie  offenttidie  gjfei- 
nung,  jene  unbefdjrdnlte  ©ebieterin  be3  (Srfolq*  eine  qrbfjere 


OTTTELLO. 


you  must  therefore  be  content  to  slubber  the  gloss  of 
your  new  fortunes  with  this  more  stubborn  and  boiste- 
rous expedition. 

Oth . The  tyrant  custom,  most  grave  senators, 

5 Hath  made  the  flinty  and  steel  couch  of  war 
My  thrice-driven  bed  of  down:  I do  agnize 
A natural  and  prompt  alacrity 
I find  in  hardness;  and  do  undertake 
This  present  wars  against  the  Ottomites. 

10  Most  humbly,  therefore,  bending  to  your  state, 

I crave  fit  disposition  for  my  wife, 

Due  reference  of  place  and  exhibition, 

With  such  accommodation  and  besort 
As  levels  with  her  breeding. 

15  Duke.  If  you  please, 

Be  ’t  at  her  father’s. 

Bra.  I’ll  not  have  it  so. 

Oth.  Nor  I. 

Des.  Nor  I;  I would  not  there  reside, 

To  put  my  father  in  impatient  thoughts 
20  By  being  in  his  eye.  Most  gracious  duke, 

To  my  unfolding  lend  your  prosperous  ear; 

And  let  me  find  a charter  in  your  voice, 

To  assist  my  simpleness. 

25  Duke.  What  would  you,  Desdemona? 

Des.  That  I did  love  the  Moor  to  live  with  him, 

My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortunes 
May  trumpet  to  the  world : my  heart’s  subdued 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord: 

30  I saw  Othello’s  visage  in  his  mind, 

And  to  his  honours  and  his  valiant  parts 
Did  I my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate. 

So  that,  dear  lords,  if  I be  left  behind, 

A moth  of  peace,  and  he  go  to  the  war, 

35  The  rites  for  which  I love  him  are  bereft  me, 

And  I a heavy  interim  shall  support 
By  his  dear  absence.  Let  me  go  with  him. 

Oth.  Your  voices,  lords:  beseech  you,  let  her  will 
Have  a free  way. 

40  Vouch  with  me,  heaven,  I therefore  beg  it  not, 

To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite; 

Nor  to  comply  with  heat  — the  young  affects 
In  me  defunct  — and  proper  satisfaction; 

X? 


OtfjePo. 


guberfidft  p end).  gfjr  miifd  eud)  be^alb  gefatten  laffen, 
ben  ©lan^  eure§  netten  ©litd§  burdj  biefe  raulje  unb  ftiir= 
mifdje  Unterne^mung  p toerbunletn. 

£)tt)-  3)ie  eiferne  ©eioobnbeit,  eb(e  §errn, 

5 0d)uf  mir  be§  $riege§  Staf)i  unb  fjetfenbett 
gum  aHermeidjften  glaum;  id)  ritfyme  mid) 

$aturtid)er  unb  rafdjer  SDtunterfeit 
gm  fd)toerften  Ungemad),  unb  bin  bereit 
gum  jeb’gen  gelbpg  mit  bem  9ttufetmann. 

10  gn  &emut  brum  micf)  neigenb  bem  Senat, 

^erlang’  id)  6orgr  unb  Sd)u£  fitr  mein  ©emat)t, 
^Xnftiinb’ge  OUicffidjt  intern  9£ang  unb  9Iufroanb 
Unb  foldje  2Bo£)nung,  foldje  ®ienerfc^aft, 

21 1§  intern  Stanb  ge^iemt. 

15  $er^.  ' 2Benn’§  eud)  genel^m, 

~ S3ei  intern  Skater. 

S3  tab.  dimmer  geb’  idj’S  p. 

£)tl).  9£od)  id). 

$)e§b.  Wodf  id);  nidjt  gern  bettoeilf  id)  bort 

20  Unb  rei^te  meine§  $ater§  Ungebulb, 

28arr  id)  ibnt  ftet§  Dor  2lugen.  — ©iifger  giirft, 

£eit)t  meinent  SSortrag  ein  geneigte§  £)t)r 
Unb  lafd  mir  eure  ©unft  al§  greibrief  gelten, 

9ttein  f5)iicf)tern  28ort  git  fraffgen. 

25  §erj.  28a§  miinfdjt  ifjr,  §>e§bemona? 

3)e§b.  2)af}  id)  ben  2Jcot)ren  liebf,  um  it)tn  p leben, 

9ttagr  meine§  ©Iiicf§  getoaltfam  father  Sturm 
^er  2Bett  prufen:  fa',  mein  §er&  ergab  fid) 

©an^  unbebingt  an  meine§  §errn  23eruf. 

30  9DUr  mar  £)tbefto§  2Cntti|  fein  ©emiit, 

Unb  feinem  9Xut)m  unb  feinem  gelbenfinn 
§abr  id)  Me  SeeP  unb  irbifdj  ©liicf  gett>eil)t. 

S)rum,  miirb'ge  §errn,  liifjt  man  mid)  f)ier  priitf 
2IB  grieben§ntotte,  meit  er  pf)t  in§  getb, 

35  So  raubt  man  meiner  Siebe  teure§  3£ed)t 
Unb  Ia|t  mir  eine  fd)toere  gmifdjenfteit, 

5)em  Siebften  fern:  brum  lafjt  mid)  mit  iijm  giel/n. 

&tlj.  Stimmt  bei,  i£)r  .germ:  id)  bitf  eud)  brum;  qemabrt 
gijr  freie  SBidfitr. 

40  $)er  §immel  $euge  mir’S : bie§  bitf  icf)  nidjt, 

Sten^aum*  p rei^en  rneiner  Sinnenluft, 

9tfod)  Jjeifjem  S3Iut  p Siebe  (juugen  £rieben 
Selbftfiidjfger  Siifte,  bie  jefct  fd)io eigen  mitffen), 
i?  * 3 


OTHELLO. 


But  to  be  free  and  bounteous  to  her  mind: 

And  heaven  defend  your  good  souls,  that  you  think 
I will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant 
For  she  is  with  me:  no,  when  light-wing’d  toys 
5 Of  feather’d  Cupid  seel  with  wanton  dullness 
My  speculative  and  offic’d  instruments, 

That  my  disports  corrupt  and  taint  my  business, 

Let  housewives  make  a skillet  of  my  helm, 

And  all  indign  and  base  adversities 
10  Make  head  against  my  estimation! 

Duke.  Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine, 

Either  for  her  stay  or  going:  the  affair  cries  haste, 

And  speed  must  answer  it. 

First  Sen.  You  must  away  to-night. 

15  Des.  To-night,  my  lord? 

Duke.  This  night. 

Oth.  With  all  my  heart. 

Duke.  At  nine  i’  the  morning  here  we’ll  meet  again. — 
Othello,  leave  some  officer  behind, 

20  And  he  shall  our  commission  bring  to  you; 

With  such  things  else  of  quality  and  respect 
As  doth  import  you. 

Oth.  So  please  your  grace,  my  ancient; 

A man  he  is  of  honesty  and  trust: 

25  To  his  conveyance  I assign  my  wife, 

With  what  else  needful  your  good  grace  shall  think 
To  be  sent  after  me. 

Duke.  Let  it  be  so. 

Good  night  to  every  one.  [75  Brab.]  And,  noble  signior, 
30  If  virtue  no  delighted  beauty  lack, 

Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black. 

First  Sen.  Adieu,  brave  Moor;  use  Desd  -mona  well. 

Bra.  Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see : 

She  has  deceiv’d  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

35  [Exeunt  Duke,  Senators,  Officers,  &c. 

Oth . My  life  upon  her  faith! — Honest  Iago, 

My  Desdemona  must  I leave  to  thee: 

I pr’ythee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her; 

And  bring  them  after  in  the  best  advantage. — - 
40  Come,  Desdemona;  I have  but  an  hour 
Of  love,  of  worldly  matters  and  direction, 

To  spend  with  thee:  we  must  obey  the  time. 

Rod.  Iago, — [Exeunt  Othello  and  Desdemona, 


Dtfjello. 


Stfur  if)rent  2Bunfd)  mittfdt)rig  §o!b  §u  fern; 

Unb  ©ott  Dert)itf,  ©nr*  ©Men  mbdjteu  matjnen, 
gd)  toerM  eurr  ernft  itnb  grojg  ©efdjaft  Derfdumen, 

38eit  fie  mil*  fotgt  — nein,  menu  ber  teere  $Tanb 
5 S)e§  ftitcbfgen  2lmor  mir  mit  itdp’ger  £ragt)eit 
£)e§  ©eifteS  unb  ber  X^atlraft  0dj'drfe  ftumpft 
Unb  mid)  ©emtb  entnerot  unb  fd)toad)t  mein  58irfeit, 

‘itftad)'  eine  §an§fran  nteinen  §elm  jum  ^effel 
Unb  jebe§  nieb’re  nub  unttmrMge  3eugniS 
10  ©rftefje  toiber  mid)  unb  meinen  ^u^m!  — 

§erg.  ©3  fei,  lute  tyx’%  mitfammen  feftgefe^t: 

0ie  fo!gr  eud),  ober  bteibe;  ba§  ©efdjdft 
£>eifd)t  bringenb  ©it’. 

©rfi.  0en.  Qur  $ftad)t  nod)  miif3t  it)r  fort.' 

15  2)e§b.  §euf  Sftadjt,  mein  giirft? 

£>er§.  §eutr  $ftad)t. 

£)tt).  $on  gan^etn  §er&en. 

|>erft.  Unt  nenn  Uf)r  frill)  berfammetn  mir  un§  inieber. 
Duetto,  taftt  rnen  Officer  ^uriid, 

20  S)er  eure  SSottmadjt  eudj  faun  itberbringen, 

Unb  ma§  nod)  fonft  enrr  9tmt  unb  £)ienftt>erl)dttni§ 

SSetrifft. 

Dtlj.  ©efdHt’3  ©nr’  £)oljeit,  l)ier  mein  gdt)nbrid) ; 

©r  ift  ein  ‘dftann  Don  ©f)r’  nub  9fteblid)feit. 

25  Unb  feiner  gitl)rung  laff  id)  meine  gran 
Unb  ma§  ©nr’  §ot)eit  fonft  fitr  notig  adjtet, 

•Jftir  nad^ufenben. 

4?er$.  6o  mag  e§  fein.  — ©uf  Sftadjt  jel3t  inSgefamt! 

(3u  sBrabantio)  ilnb,  toitrMger  §err, 

30  2Benn  man  bie  Xugenb  mu|  at§  fd)bn  erlennen, 

S)iirft  itjr  nid)t  t)dbtid)  euren  ©ibam  nennen. 

©rft.  0en.  Sebt  luo^I,  ^ot)r!  tiebt  unb  ebret  $)e§bemona! 
$8rab.  0ei  madjfant,  iftof)r!  baft  2tugen  bn  $u  feb’n; 

3)en  $ater  trog  fie,  fo  magr3  bir  ge'fdjeb'n, 

35  [^er&ocj  unb  ©ettatoren  ab. 

Ott)-  9J£ein  ®obf  fitr  ibre  £reu!  §or',  toad'rer  gago, 
gd)  mub  bir  meine  S)e3bemona  Xaffen ; 
gd)  bitP  bidX),  gieb  bein  28eib  itjr  $ur  ©efedfdjaft 
Unb  brtnge  fie  mir  nad),  fobalb  bn  fannft.  — 

40  ^ommf  $)e§bemona,  nur  ein  0tiinbd)en  bteibt 
$er  Sieb*  unb  unferm  bau§tid)en  ©efdjdft 
Qn  mibmen  un§;  tab  un%  ber  Qtxi  gebordjen. 
fftob.  Sago,  — [Ottjeno  unb  2)e§bentona  ab 

3* 


1$ 


OTHELLO. 


I ago.  What  say’st  thou,  noble  heart? 

Rod.  What  will  I do,  thinkest  thou? 

Iago.  Why,  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 

Rod.  I will  incontinently  drown  myself. 

5 Iago.  If  thou  dost,  I shall  never  love  thee  after.  Why, 
thou  silly  gentleman! 

Rod.  It  is  silliness  to  live  when  to  live  is  a torment;  and 
then  have  we  a prescription  to  die  when  death  is  our 
physician. 

10  Iago.  0 villanous ! I have  looked  upon  the  world  for  four 
times  seven  years ! and  since  I could  distinguish  betwixt 
a benefit  and  an  injury,  I never  found  a man  that  knew 
how  to  love  himself.  Ere  I would  say,  1 would  drown 
myself  for  the  love  of  a guinea-hen,  I would  change  my 
15  humanity  with  a baboon. 

Rod.  What  should  I do?  I confess  it  is  my  shame  to  be 
so  fond;  but  it  is  not  in  my  virtue  to  amend  it. 

20  Iago,  Virtue!  a fig!  ’tis  in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  or 
thus.  Our  bodies  are  our  gardens,  to  the  which  our  wills 
are  gardeners ; so  that  if  we  will  plant  nettles,  or  sow 
lettuce,  set  hyssop  and  weed  up  thyme,  supply  it  with 
one  gender  of  herbs,  or  distract  it  with  many,  either  to 
25  have  it  sterile  with  idleness,  or  manured  with  industry, 
why,  the  power  and  corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in 
our  wills.  If  the  balance  of  our  lives  had  not  one  scale 
of  reason  to  poise  another  of  sensuality,  the  blood  and 
baseness  of  our  natures  would  conduct  us  to  most 
30  preposterous  conclusions:  but  we  have  reason  to  cool 
our  raging  motions,  our  carnal  stings,  our  unbitted 
lusts,  whereof  I take  this  that  you  call  love  to  be  a 
sect  or  scion. 

35 

Rod.  It  cannot  be. 

Iago.  It  is  merely  a lust  of  the  blood  and  a permission 
of  the  will.  Come,  be  a man.  Drown  thyself  ! drown  cats 
and  blind  puppies.  I have  professed  me  thy  friend  and 
40  I confess  me  knit  to  thy  deserving  with  cables  of  per- 
durable toughness ; I could  never  better  stead  thee  than 
now.  Put  money  in  thy  purse:  follow  thou  the  wars; 
defeat  thy  favour  with  an  usurped  beard;  I say,  put 


Otfcffo. 


ago.  2Ba§  fagft  bu,  eble§  ©er$? 
oo.  28a§  loerb'  id)  je|t  tbun,  meinft  bu? 
ago.  9hm,  %u  23ette  getj'n  uub  fd)tafen. 
ob.  s2luf  ber  ©telle  erfaufen  loerb’  id)  mid), 
ago.  Sftun,  toemt  bu  ba§  tbuft,  fo  ift’3  mit  mehter  $reunb= 
fcgaft  auf  eioig  au§.  (£i,  bu  alberner  junger  ©err! 

9?ob.  (£§  ift  Slbernbeit  $u  leben,  menu  ba§  Seben  eine 
dual  roirb ; uub  loir  bdben  bie  $8orfd)rift  $u  fterben,  toeun 
Sob  urtfer  ^rjt  ift. 

10  3 ago.  0 iiber  bie  G£rbarmlid)feit!  3$  ^abe  ber  SBett  an 
bie  oiermal  fieben  ,3at)re  $ugefebrn,  uub  feit  id)  einen  Unter= 
fd)ieb  gu  ftnben  loufde  jioifcben  SBobltbat  uub  SBeteibigung, 
bin  id)  nod)  feinem  begegnet,  berr§  Oerftanben  bdtte,  fid) 
felbft  gu  liebeit.  ©b’  id)  fagte,  id)  ioodte  mid)  einem  ^utt= 
15  i)itt)nd)en  $u  &iebe  erfaufen,  ef)?  taufd)tr  id)  meine  9ftenfd)= 
beit  mil  eiueut  $aOian. 

9tob.  28a§  foil  id)  tbun?  3d)  geftebe,  e§  mad)t  mir©d)anbe, 
fo  febr  oerliebt  §u  feitt;  aber  nteine  Sugenb  reid)t  nid)t  bin, 
bent  ab^ubelfeu. 

20  3a9°-  Sugenb!  5lbgefd)madt!  — 3n  un§  felber  Iiegt%  ob 
loir  fo  finb,  ober  anberS.  ttnfer  ®brf)er  ift  ein  ©arten  uub 
unfer  $Me  ber  Partner,  fo  bafc,  ob  loir  Sfteffeln  brin 
bftan^en  looden  ober  @alat  bauen,  Dfob  aufoieben  ober 
Xbl)inian  au§jaten,  ibu  biirftig  mit  einerlei  $raut  befetien 
25  ober  mit  mand)erlei  ©eioad)§  au§faugen,  ibu  mujng  t>erroil= 
bern  laffen  ober  fleifjig  in  gud)t  fatten  — ei,  ba§  $8er= 
rnogen  ba^u  itnb  bie  beffernbe  5D^ad)t  liegt  burd)au§  in  un= 
fernt  freieit  28iden.  ©atte  ber  SBagbalfen  unfre$  fieben^ 
nid)t  eiue  ©d)ate  Oon  $ernunft,  tun  eine  anbre  non  ©imt= 
30  lid)!eit  auf§uioiegen,  fo  loitrbe  unfer  93Xut  uub  bie  $o§artig= 
feit  unfrer  Sriebe  un§  jit  ben  au§fd)ioeifenbften  SBerfebrt^ 
beiten  f itbrert ; aber  loir  baben  bie  $ernunft,  urn  bie  tobem 
ben  £eibenfd)aften,  bie  f(eifd)Iid)en  Sriebe,  bie  jixgedofen 
Siifte  $u  fixbten;  uub  barau§  fd)tie^e  id):  toa§  bu  Siebe 
35  nemtft,  fei  ein  $frobfrei§,  ein  2lbleger. 
o b.  Sa§  faun  rtid)t  fein. 

3 ago.  (£§  ift  nur  ein  (Miift  be§  $8tut§,  eine  ^adigiebigfeit 
be§  SBidenS.  2luf!  fei  ein^ann!  Sid)  erfaufen?  ^rfdufe 
®a£en  uub  junge  ©unbel  3 d)  nenne  mid)  beinen  greunb 
40  uub  erflare  mid)  an  bein  ^erbienft  gefnubft  mit  bem  5tn= 
fertau  ber  auSbauernbften  geftigfeit;  nie  fonnte  icb  bir  beffer 
beifteben  al§  je£t.  Sbur  (Mb  in  beinen  SBeutel;  $iebr  mit 
in  biefen  ®rieg,  Derftette  bein  ®efid)t  burd)  etnen  fatfdjen 
19 


OTHELLO, 


money  in  thy  purse.  It  cannot  be  that  Desdemona 
should  long  continue  her  love  to  the  Moor, — put 
money  in  thy  purse, — nor  he  his  to  her:  it  was  a vio- 
lent commencement,  and  thou  shalt  see  an  answerable 
5 sequestration; — put  but  money  in  thy  purse. — These 
Moors  are  changeable  in  their  wills : — till  thy  purse 
with  money: — the  food  that  to  him  now  is  as 
luscious  as  locusts,  shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as 
coloquintida.  She  must  change  for  youth:  when  she  is 
10  sated  with  his  body,  she  will  hnd  the  error  of  her  choice. 
She  must  have  change,  she  must:  therefore  put  money 
in  thy  purse.  If  thou  wilt  needs  damn  thyself,  do  it 
a more  delicate  way  than  drowning.  Make  all  the  money 
thou  canst:  if  sanctimony  and  a frail  vow  betwixt  an 
15  erring  barbarian  and  a supersubtie  Yenetian  be  not  too 
hard  for  my  wits  and  all  the  tribe  of  hell,  thou  shalt 
enjoy  her;  therefore  make  money.  A pox  of  drowning 
thyself!  it  is  clean  out  of  the  way : seek  thou  rather  to 
be  hanged  in  compassing  thy  joy  than  to  be  drowned 
20  and  go  without  her. 


Rod.  Wilt  thou  be  fast  to  my  hopes,  if  I depend  on  the 

issue? 

35  dago.  Thou  art  sure  of  me:  — go,  make  money;  — I have  , 
told  thee  often,  and  I re-tell  thee  again  and  again,  I hate 
the  Moor:  my  cause  is  hearted;  thine  hath  no  less  rea- 
son. Let  us  be  conjunctive  in  our  revenge  against  him : 
if  thou  canst  cuckold  him,  thou  dost  thyself  a pleasure, 

30  me  a sport.  There  are  many  events  in  the  womb 
of  time,  which  will  be  delivered.  Traverse!  go, 
provide  thy  money.  We  will  have  more  of  this  to- 
morrow. Adieu. 

Rod.  Where  shall  we  meet  i7  the  morning? 

35  dago  At  my  lodging. 

Rod.  I’ll  be  with  thee  betimes. 

dago.  Go  to;  farewell.  Do  you  hear,  Roderigo? 

Rod.  What  say  you? 

40  dago.  No  more  of  drowning,  do  you  hear? 

Rod.  I am  changed:  I’ll  go  sell  all  my  land. 

[Exit,  i 

Jago.  Go  to  ; farewell : put  money  enough  in  your  purse.  — j 
Thus  do  I ever  make  my  fool  my  purse; 


20 


Ottjeflo. 


$8art;  id)  fage  bit:  t£)UT  ©etb  in  beinen  SBeutet.  ©§  ift  un= 
benfbar,  baft  3)e§bemona  ben  StRobren  aitf  bie  $£)auer  lieben 
follte,  — t£)U7  ©el b in  beinen  SSeutel  l — nod)  ber  9Robr 
fie:  e§  mar  etn  gemattfame§  23eginnen  nnb  bn  mirft  feb'n, 
5 bie  ®ataftroftbe  mirb  eine  d£)nlid)e  fein.  ^nT  nnr  ©etb  in 
beinen  SBeutel:  — fo  etn  9!Robr  ift  Oeranbertid)  in  feinen 
SReigungen;  fitCte  beinen  SSeutel  nut  ©etb;  — bie  0fteife, 
bie  itjnt  jeftt  fo  mitr^ig  fdjmedt  at§  01tftbots,  mirb  ipn  batb 
bittrer  biinfen  at§  $oloquinten.  0ie  mufe  fid)  cinbern, 
10  benn  fie  ift  jung;  nnb  bat  fie  ipn  erft  fatt,  fo  mirbjgfie  ben 
3rrtum  i^rer  9®at)t  etnfeb'n.  0ie  ntuft  2lbmed)Mung  baben, 
ba§  mufe  fie;  barnnt  t|u'  ©etb  in  beinen  SBeitteL  2Bemt 
bn  burd)au§  pm  Xenfet  fatten  mittft,  fo  tip’  e§>  anf  ange- 
nebmerem  2Bege  at§  burd)  ©rfaufen.  0d)aff  Mr  ©etb,  fo 
15  Met  bn  famtft ! 2Benn  be§  $riefter§  0egen  nnb  etn  f)o£)te§ 
©etiibbe  ^mifcften  einen  abentenernben  2lfrifaner  nnb  enter 
iibertiftigen  $enetianerin  fur  nteinen  2Bi ft  nnb  bie  gan^e 
0iftftfd)aft  ber  §otte  nicf)t  p bart  finb,  fo  fottft  bn  fie  be= 
fiften;  barnnt  fdf)affr  bir  ©etb.  gum  Renter  mit  bent  ©r= 
20  fattfen!  $)a§  tie gt  toeit  ab  toon  beinem  2Bege.  SDenfe  bn 
iieber  branf,  p ' tfattgen,  inbem  bu  beine  £uft  biifteft,  at§ 
bid)  p erfciufen  nnb  fie  faftren  p laffen. 
fRob.  0olt  id)  nteine  ^mffuung  anf  bicf)  bauen,  menu  id)r§ 
branf  mage? 

25  3 aq  o.  s2tuf  nticf)  fannft  bu  pbten ; — gepT,  fdfaffe  bir  ©etb ! — 
id)  babe  bi r’§  oft  gefagt  nnb  miebert)ote  e£  aber  ttnb  aber= 
ntat$:  id)  paffe  ben  9Robren;  mein  ©runb  tommt  toon  §er= 
(^en,  ber  beinige  tiegt  eben  fo  tief:  lap  itn§  feft  in  itnfrer 
3iad)e  pfamnten  patten,  fannft  bit  it)nt  Corner  auffeften, 
30  fo  macpft  bit  bir  eine  Suft  nnb  ntir  einen  0ftaft.  ©§  rubt 
nod)  mand)e§  im  0d)oft  ber  geit,  ba§  pr  ©ebnrt  mitt, 
©rabe  burd)!  — $ort!  £reib?  bir  ©etb  anf!  2Btr  molten 
e§>  morgen  meiter  toerbanbetn.  £eb'  mobt!  — 
fRob.  3Bo  treffen  mir  un§  morgen  fritb? 

35  3 ago.  3^  nteiner  SBobnung. 
fRob.  3d)  merbe  ^eitig  bort  fetn. 

3 ago.  ©itt,  teb’  mobt!  — §bre  bod),  fRobrtqo ! 
fRob.  2Ba§  fagft  bu? 

3 ago  $Rid)t§  toon  ©rfanfen!  §i5rft  bu? 

40  fRob.  3d)  bertfe  jeftt  anber3.  3**)  Mitt  atte  meine  ©itter  toer^ 
faufen.  [SJiobrigo  ab. 

3ago.  ^Rur  p;  teb’ mobt!  tbu?  nnr  ©etb  genngin  beinen SBeutet 
0o  mufe  mciit  ^Rarr  mir  ftet§  pm  0edel  merben: 

20 


OTHELLO. 


/ 


For  I mine  own  gain’d  knowledge  should  profane, 

If  I would  time  expend  with  such  a snipe, 

But  for  my  sport  and  profit.  I hate  the  Moor; 

And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  ’twixt  my  sheets 
5 He  has  done  my  office:  I know  not  ift  be  true; 

But  I,  for  mere  suspicion  in  that  kind, 

Will  do  as  if  for  surety.  He  holds  me  well; 

The  better  shall  my  purpose  work  on  him. 

Cassio’s  a proper  man:  let  me  see  now: 

10  To  get  his  place,  and  to  plume  up  my  will 
In  double  knavery — How,  how? — Let’s  see: — 

After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello’s  ear 
That  he  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife. 

He  hath  a person  and  a smooth  dispose, 

15  To  be  suspected,  fram’d  to  make  women  false. 

The  Moor  is  of  a free  and  open  nature, 

That  thinks  men  honest  that  but  seem  to  he  so; 

And  will  as  tenderly  be  led  by  the  nose 
As  asses  are. 

20  I have  ’t.  It  is  engender’d.  Hell  and  night 

Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world’s  light. 

[Exit. 


25  A C T II. 

Scene  I.  A Sea-port  in  Cyprus . An  open  place  near  the  quay. 
Enter  Montano  and  two  Gentlemen. 

31  Mon.  What  from  the  cape  can  you  discern  at  sea? 

First  Gent.  Nothing  at  all:  it  is  a high-wrought  flood; 

I cannot,  ’twixt  the  heaven  and  the  main, 

Descry  a sail. 

Mon.  Methinks  the  wind  hath  spoke  aloud  at  land; 

35  A fuller  blast  ne’er  shook  our  battlements: 

If  it  hath  ruffian’d  so  upon  the  sea, 

What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them, 

Can  hold  the  mortise?  What  shall  we  hear  of  this? 
Sec.  Gent.  A segregation  of  the  Turkish  fleet: 

40  For  do  but  stand  upon  the  foaming  shore, 

The  chidden  billow  seems  to  pelt  the  clouds; 

The  wind-shak’d  surge,  with  high  and  monstrous  main, 
Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  bear, 

2 


jOtfietfo. 


SOcein  reifeg  Urteit  miirb7  id)  jet  en tmeib'n, 

$ertdnbelt7  id)  ben  £ag  mit  fold)em  ®imbel 

Wlix  obne  Wvl#  unb  (Etyafj.  — $)en  9Kobren  baff  id) 

3)ie  fftebe  gebt,  er  §ab'  in  meinem  SSett 
5 9ftein  Wmt  bermaltet  — moglidj,  ba§  eg  falfd) : 

$odj  id),  auf  blofjen  2Irgmobn  in  bent  gad 
2SiH  djun,  atg  mdr7g  gemijj-  (Sr  bat  mid)  gent, 

Urn  fo  biel  beffer  mirb  ntein  ^lan  gebeib'n. 

®er  (Saffio  ift  ein  ^iibjcfjer  dftamt  — lafjt  fe^nl 
10  0ein  $lmt  erbafdjen,  ntein  (Mitfte  bitten,  — 

(Sin  bopbelt  0djelmftitcf!  — 28ie  nur?  Siafjt  mid)  feb’n  — 
9fttd)  ein7ger  Qeit  £>tfjedo7g  £)f)t  betbbren, 

(Sr  fei  mit  feinem  SSeibe  oertraut  — 

S)er  S3urfd)r  ift  moblgebaut,  bon  fd)nteib7ger  5Irt, 

15  dtedjt  fitr  ben  9lrgmobn,  red)t  ben  grau’n  gefabrlid). 

$)er  9Diobr  nun  t)at  ein  grab7  unb  frei  (SJemiit, 

2)ag  ebrlidj  jeben  bolt,  fdjeint  er  nur  fo; 

Unb  Idfjt  fid)  fanftlid)  an  ber  Sftafe  fiibren, 

Sie  (Sfel  tbun. 

20  gd)  ba&%  eg  ift  er^eugt;  aug  £>od7  unb  9^acf)t 
0ei  biefe  Untbat  an  bag  £id)t  gebrad)t. 

[@r  ge^t  a6. 


25  ^wetter  Slufgug. 

®r#t  Sjcnc.  fjauvtftabt  in  Stypern.  a_m£>afen. 

Montano  unb  stoei  (gbelleutc  treten  auf. 

30  s]D£ont.  2Bag  nnterfd)eibet  man  born  S)amm  $ur  0ee? 

(Sbetm.  9ttd)tg  meit  unb  breit  — 7g  ift  bocbgefdjm$fte  glut 
Unb  nirgenb  §mifd)en  9fleer  unb  fiafen  faun  id) 

(Silt  0d)iff  entbeden. 

®*ont.  9DUr  febeint,  ber  28inb  blieg  itberlaut  ang  Ufer; 

35  9He  traf  fo  boiler  0turm  bie  ^lufjenmerfe. 

2$enn7g  eben  fo  rumort  bat  auf  ber  0ee, 

28eld)’  eid)7ner  ®iel,  menu  SBerge  nieberfluten, 

S3Ieibt  feftgefiigt?  28ag  merben  mir  nod)  bbren? 

8meit.  (Sbelnt.  gerftreuung  mob!  beg  titrlifdjen  ®efd)tuaberg; 

40  3)enn,  ftellt  end)  nur  an  ben  befd)dumten  0tranb, 

^)ie  §orn7ge  28oge  fbriibt  big  an  bie  2Mfen; 

®ie  fturmgebeitfcbte  glut  mid  mad)t7gen  0d)madg 
3)en  0d)aum  binmerfen  auf  ben  glitb’nben  SBaren, 

21 


OTHELLO. 


And  quench  the  guards  of  the  ever-fixed  pole : 

I never  did  like  molestation  view 
On  the  enchafed  flood. 

Mon.  If  that  the  Turkish  fleet 

5 Be  not  enshelter’d  and  embay’d,  they’re  drown’d; 

It  is  impossible  they  hear  it  out. 

Enter  a third  Gentleman. 

Third  Gent.  News,  lords!  our  wars  are  done. 

10  The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  bang’d  the  Turks, 
That  their  designment  halts:  a noble  ship  of  Venice 
Hath  seen  a grievous  wreck  and  sufferance 
On  most  part  of  their  fleet. 

Mon.  How!  is  this  true? 

15  Third  Gent.  The  ship  is  here  put  in, 

A Veronese;  Michael  Cassio, 

Lieutenant  to  the  warlike  Moor  Othello, 

Is  come  on  shore:  the  Moor  himself  at  sea, 

And  is  in  full  commission  here  for  Cyprus. 

2o  Mon.  I’m  glad  on’t;  ’tis  a worthy  governor. 

Third  Gent.  But  this  same  Cassio, — though  he  speak  ot 
comfort 

Touching  the  Turkish  loss,  yet  he  looks  sadly, 

And  prays  the  Moor  be  safe;  for  they  were  parted 
25  With  foul  and  violent  tempest. 

Mon.  Pray  heaven  he  be; 

For  I have  serv’d  him,  and  the  man  commands 
Like  a full  soldier.  Let’s  to  the  seaside,  ho! 

As  well  to  see  the  vessel  that’s  come  in 
30  As  to  throw  out  our  eyes  for  brave  Othello, 

Even  till  we  make  the  main  and  the  aerial  blue 
An  indistinct  regard. 

Third  Gent.  Come,  let’s  do  so  ; 

For  every  minute  is  expectancy 
&5  Of  more  arrivance. 

Enter  Cassio. 

Cas.  Thanks  you,  the  valiant  of  this  warlike  isle, 

That  so  approve  the  Moor!  0,  let  the  heavens 
Give  him  defence  against  the  elements, 

40  For  I have  lost  him  on  a dangerous  sea! 

Mon.  Is  he  well  shipp’d? 

Cas.  His  bark  is  stoutly  timber’d,  and  his  pilot 
Of  very  expert  and  approv’d  allowance; 

22 


Othello. 


$>e§  etoig  feften  $o!e§  2Bad)t  gu  lofdjen. 

9^te  fab'  id)  fo  berberblidjen  tumult 
&e§  aorn’gen  Sfteereg. 

^ont.  2Benn  ni(f)t  bie  £urfenftotte 

5 ©id)  barg  in  23ud)t  unb  §afen,  fo  oerfauf  fie; 
@3  ift  unmoglid),  baft  fie’S  uberftanb. 

@irt  brttter  ©betmottn  tritt  auf. 


10 


20 


25 


80 


35 


40 


$>rit.  (Sbelnt.  23otfd)aft,  if)r  germ!  S)er  $rieg  ift  au§; 
®er  toiit'ge  ©turn  nafjnt  fo  bie  Sitrfen  nxit, 

ibre  Sabung  bin!t'  — ein  $rieg§fdjiff  Don  $enebiq 
SBar  Qeuge  graufer  Sftot  unb  §'abarei 
S)e§  §auptteit§  ibrer  grtotte. 

Wont  ^ 28ie?  3ft  ba§  toabr?  — 

®rit.  (Sbelnt.  £)a§  ©d)iff  ^at  angeleqt. 

(Sin  SBeronefer;  Wifyad  (Saffto, 

Sieut'nant  be§  Iriegerifdjen  9J£obr§  Dtbedo, 

©tieg  bier  an§  £anb;  ber  3Ro$r  ift  auf  ber  ©ee, 

2tttt  pcbfter  SSoHmadJt  untertoegS  nad)  (Silent. 

9ft  out.  9ttid)  freufS;  er  ift  ein  toitrb'ger  ©ouberoeur. 

S)rit.  eb'clm.  ®od)  biefer  (Saffio,  — ft>rid)t  er  gteid)  fo 
troftlid) 

^om  tiirfifdjen  SBerluft,  — fdjeint  fe^r  beforgt 
Hub  betet  fitr  ben  Sftobren : benn  e§  trennte ' 

(Sin  graufer,  fdjtoerer  ©turm  fie. 

9ft  ont.  ©d)u|?  i^n  ©ott! 

3di  biente  unter  ibnt;  ber  9Kann  ift  gan^ 

©olbat  nub  gelbberr.  ftomntt  gum  ©tranbe.  bo! 

©oioobt  ba§  ein gelanfne  ©djiff  §n  fel/n 
nad)  bent  tapfern  ^Jtobren  au§§ufd)au’n, 

$i§  too  bie  Sfteerflut  unb  be§  2(eter§  SBIau 
Qn  (Sin§  berfdjntil^t. 

®rit.  (Sbelnt.  $a§  lafet  m%  tljnn; 

®enn  jeber  §lugenbl tcf  ift  ieftt  (Srtoartunq 
$on  neuer  9tnfunft. 

(£affio  tritt  Gttf. 

(Saf.  3)anf  aden  Sabfern  biefe§  ntufgen  (SilaitbS, 

2)ie  fo  ben  9J?obren  lieben;  ntbd)f  il)n  bod) 

5)er  £inunel  fc^ix^en  bor  bem  (Slement, 

S)enn  id)  bertor  ifn  auf  ber  f^Iimmften  ©ee» 

9ft  out.  £at  er  ein  gute§  gabr^eug? 
eaf.  ©ein  ©drift  ift  ftart  gebaut  unb  fein  SBilot 
® on  tooblgebriifter,  funb’ger  2Jtafterfd)aft; 

22 


OTHELLO. 


Therefore  my  hopes,  not  surfeited  to  death, 

Stand  in  bold  cure. 

[ A cry  within\  A sail,  a sail,  a sail! 

Enter  a fourth  Gentleman. 

Cas.  "What  noise? 

Fourth  Gent.  The  town  is  empty ; on  the  brow  o’  the  sea 
Stand  ranks  of  people,  and  they  cry  sail\ ” 

Cas.  My  hopes  do  shape  him  for  the  governor. 

2q  | Guns  heard 

Sec.  Gent.  They  do  discharge  their  shot  of  courtesy: 

Our  friends  at  least. 

Cas.  I pray  you,  sir,  go  forth, 

And  give  us  truth  who  ’tis  that  is  arriv’d. 

15  See.  Gent.  I shall.  . jri  [Exii 

Mon.  But,  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wived  i 
Cas.  Most  fortunately:  he  hath  achiev’d  a maid 
That  paragons  description  and  wild  fame; 

One  that  excels  the  quirks  of  blazoning  pens, 

20  And  in  the  essential  vesture  of  creation 

Does  bear  all  excellency.  — How  now?  who  has  put  in 

Re-enter  second  Gentleman. 

t 

25  Sec.  Gent.  ’Tis  one  Iago,  ancient  to  the  general. 

Cas.  Has  had  most  favourable  and  happy  speed : 
Tempests  themselves,  high  seas  and  howling  winds, 
The  gutter’d  rocks,  and  congregated  sands,— 

Traitors  ensteep’d  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel- 
30  As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 

Their  mortal  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdemona. 

Mon . What  is  she?  # • 

Cas’  She  that  I spake  of,  our  great  captain’s  captain,  « 
35  Left  in  the  conduct  of  the  bold  Iago, 

Whose  footing  here  anticipates  our  thoughts 
A se’nnight’s  speed.  Great  Jove,  Othello  guard, 

And  swell  his  sail  with  thine  own  powerful  breath, 
That  he  may  bless  this  bay  with  his  tall  ship, 

40  Make  love’s  quick  pants  in  Desdemona’s  arms, 

Give  renew’d  fire  to  our  extincted  spirits, 

And  bring  all  Cyprus  comfort!  --  0,  behold, 


Dtpflo. 


3)rum  b&rrt  mein  §offen,  nod)  nidft  tottid)  tranf, 

^i'tljn  auf  ©enefung.  [3ftepere  <5timmen  braufcett 

(gin  ©djiff!  ©in  ©djiff!  ©in  ©c£)iff ! — 

@itt  oierter  ©betmantt  tritt  auf. 

©af.  Sa§  rufen  fie? 

© r ft.  ©betnt.  3)ie  ©tabt  ifi  leer;  am  9fteere§ufer  ftebt 
©ebrdngt  ba§  $ol!,  man  ruft:  ein  ©d)iff!  ein  ©d)iff! 

©af.  9Jlein  £>offen  indent,  e§  fei  ber  ©ouoerneur. 

[SKan  prt  ©djiiffe. 

$meit.  ©belnt.  9ttit  greubenfdjiiffen  falutieren  fie; 

Quin  minb’ften  greunbe  finb’3. 

©af.  Qd)  bittr  end),  §err, 

©et)t,  bringt  un§  fid^rre  ‘iftacbricbt,  mer  getanbet. 
gmeit.  ©betm.  ©ogteid).  [®ep  ab. 

s&ont.  ©agt,  lieutenant,  ift  ber  ©eneral  Oermablt? 

©af.  Qa,  du|erft  gliicflid).  ©r  getoann  ein  fjrdulein, 

£)a§  jeben  fd&mdrmerifdjen  $rei§  erreid)t, 

$unftreid)er  gebern  Sobfbrud)  iiberbeut 

Hub  in  ber  ©djityfung  reid)begabter  giilte 

$>ie  3)id)tung  fetbft  ermattet.  — Sftun,  mer  maf§? 

S)er  (Sbelmantt  fommt  guriicE. 

3toeit.  © b e t m.  $)e§ getbberrn  gdbnbrid),  ein gemiffer Qago. 
©af.  $)er  bat  ^bd^ft  fdjnette,  giinffge  gabrt  geijabt: 

3)ie  ©tiirme  fetbft,  bie  ©trbmung,  mitbe  Setter, 

©e^adte  $Iibben,  auf  geb  auf  ter  ©anb,  — 

Unfd)utbrgen  ®iet  $u  fabrben  teid)t  Oerbiittt,  — 

2U§  bdtten  fie  fitr  ©d)onbeit  ©inn,  Oergaffen 
3br  tbttid)  2lmt  unb  tieffen  ungefrdnft 
$£)ie  b^be  $De§bemona  burd). 

9ft  out.  Ser  ift  fie? 

©af.  Sue  icf)  genannt,  bie  §errin  unfre§  §errn, 

2) er  g^b^ng  anOertraut  be§  fiibuen  Qago, 

3) e§  Sanbung  unferm  §offen  fcorgeeitt 

Urn  eine  Sod)e.  — 0 £err,  befd)u£?  Dtbelto! 

©ein  ©eget  fcbmette  bein  attmdd)fger  £>aud), 

$a)3  batb  feitt  mad?re§  ©d)iff  ben  £mfen  fegne; 

&ann  eiF  er  tiebenb  an  ber  ©attin  53ruft 

©ntftamme  gtii^enb  unfern  tauen  5Qlut 

Unb  bringe  ©typern  Xrdftung!  — ©ebt,  o febt!  -« 


OTHELLO. 


Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  Iago,  Boderigo,  and  Attendants. 
The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore! 

Ye  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees. 

Hail  to  thee,  lady!  and  the  grace  of  heaven, 

5 Before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 

Enwheel  thee  round! 

Des.  I thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 

What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord? 

Cas.  He  is  not  yet  arriv’d:  nor  know  I aught 
10  But  that  he’s  well,  and  will  be  shortly  here. 

Des.  0,  but  I fear — How  lost  you  company? 

Cas.  The  great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies 
Parted  our  fellowship  : — but,  hark ! a sail. 

[Within]  A sail,  a sail!  [Guns  heard. 

15  Sec.  Gent.  They  give  their  greeting  to  the  citadel: 

This  likewise  is  a friend. 

Cas.  See  for  the  news.  [Exit  Gentleman. 

Good  ancient,  you  are  welcome!  [To  Emilia]  Welcome, 
mistress : 

20  Let  it  not  gall  your  patience,  good  Iago, 

That  I extend  my  manners;  ’tis  my  breeding 
That  gives  me  this  bold  show  of  courtesy.  [Kissing  her. 
Iago.  Sir,  would  she  give  you  so  much  of  her  lips 
As  of  her  tongue  she  oft  bestows  on  me, 

25  You’ld  have  enough. 

Des.  Alas,  she  has  no  speech. 

Iago.  In  faith,  too  much; 

I find  it  still,  when  I have  list  to  sleep: 

Marry,  before  your  ladyship,  I grant, 

30  She  puts  her  tongue  a little  in  her  heart, 

And  chides  with  thinking. 

Emil.  You  have  little  cause  to  say  so. 

Iago.  Come  on,  come  on;  you’re  pictures  out  of  doors, 
Bells  in  your  parlours,  wild-cats  in  your  kitchens, 

35  Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  offended, 

Players  in  your  housewifery,  and  housewives  in  your  beds. 
Des.  0,  fie  upon  thee,  slanderer! 

Iago.  Nay,  it  is  true,  or  else  I am  a Turk: 

You  rise  to  play,  and  go  to  bed  to  work. 

40  Emil.  You  shall  not  write  my  praise. 

Iago.  No,  let  me  not. 

Des.  What  would’st  thou  write  of  me,  if  thou  should’st 
praise  me? 


n 


PtfjcTto. 


2)e§bemottct,  (SmUia,  Sago  uttb  Sftobtigo  tretcn  auf. 
©djiffeS  Seidjtum  ift  an§  Sanb  gefommen!  — 

S*)f,  G£t)pern§  ©Me,  neigt  eud)  fjufbigenb: 

®eit  bir,  o $errin!  uttb  be§  |)immel§  ©nabe 
5 23egfeite  bid)  auf  aden  ©eiten  ftet§, 

£)id)  rtng§  umfdjfiefjenb. 

®e§b.  3)anf  eud),  toad'rer  (£affio! 

Unfit  ibr  tnir  bon  nteinem  £>errn  fageit? 

©af.  Sftod)  farn  er  xtidjt,  nod)  toeii  id)  irgenb  mefjr, 
bafc  er  toof)l  unb  bafb  f)ier  fanben  mufj. 

$e§b.  3d)  furcate  nur,  — trie  fjabt  iijr  ifjn  berloren? 

$er  grofte  $ambf  be§  £immef§  unb  be§  2Reer3 
Srenuf  unfern  Sauf  — bod)  fjord)!  e§  nabt  ein  ©dbtffi 

rflnwrd,ifi!.  r [®*“«  Wrt  fcfjiefsen. 

gtoett.  @belm.  ®er  (Sttabede  brmqt  e§>  fetnen  ©rufr 
Stucb  bie§  ftnb  Sreunbe.  p' 

®^f-  ®e§t  unb  fdjafft  un§  9tedjrid)t. 

cvr^YY^  c [®er  jr.'citc  ©befmann  a&. 

SBtdlomnten,  ga^nbrid);  toerte  gran,  midfommen! 

9Ud)t  rei§’  e§  euren  Unmut,  guter  Sago, 

Stofi  id)  bie  Sreifjeit  naljm;  benn  meine  $eimat 
@rl aubt  fo  fiibjn en  $raud)  ber  ®offid)feit.  [ffir  tii&t  ©mitten. 
Sago.  ^ $err,  gaben  i^re  Stypen  end)  fo  oief, 
fie  mir  oft  befdjert  mit  ifjrer  ^unge, 

3br  ijattet  grnug. 

^e§b.  3)ie  ^frnte  fbridjt  ja  faunt! 

Sago.  (St,  oiel  §u  oief! 

merf  id)  immer,  toenn  id)  fdjfafen  mbdjte; 

58or  ©uer  ©naben  freilid),  gfaub'  id)r§  tool)!, 

Segt  fie  bie  gung’  ein  toenig  in  ifjr  £>ers 
Unb  feift  nur  in  ©ebanfen. 

3Sie  bu  fdmmbeft! 

Sago,  ©ebt,  geb)t ! Sfjr  feib  ©emcifbe  aufierm  ftau§, 
©diedcn  im  Simmer,  ®rad)en  in  ber  ®ud)e:  * 

Serleftt  ibr,  £)eidge;  Xeufef,  franft  man  end): 

©b^U  mit  bem  $>au£fjalt,  fjaftet  £au§  im  Sett. 

^)e§b.  0 fdjame  bid),  Serfeumberl 

^ein,  ba8  ift  luafa!  nid)t  trr’  id)  unt  ein  ©aarbreit: 
Sbr  ftefjt  jum  ©f)tel  auf,  ge^t  in§  Sett  §ur  Arbeit. 

^nttf.  3^r  f°dt  mein  Sob  nid)t  fdjreiben. 

^a^°-  SSiU;§  and)  nicbt 

^)e§b.  .SBaS  fAriebft  bu  tvoty  non  mir,  foUt’ft  bu  mid) 
foben? 

3^ 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  0 gentle  lady,  do  not  put  me  to  ’t; 

For  I am  nothing,  if  not  critical. 

Des.  Come  on,  assay.  — There's  one  gone  to  the  harbour? 

Iago.  Ay,  madam. 

5 Des . I am  not  merry;  but  I do  beguile 
The  thing  I am,  by  seeming  otherwise. 

Come,  how  wouldst  thou  praise  me? 

Iago.  I am  about  it;  but  indeed  my  invention 
Comes  from  my  pate  as  birdlime  does  from  frize ; 

10  It  plucks  out  brains  and  all:  but  my  Muse  labours, 

And  thus  she  is  deliver'd. 

If  she  be  fair  and  wise,  fairness  and  wit, 

The  one's  for  use,  the  other  useth  it. 

Des.  Well  prais'd!  How  if  she  be  black  and  witty? 

15  Iago.  If  she  be  black,  and  thereto  have  a wit, 

She’ll  find  a white  that  shall  her  blackness  fit. 

Des.  Worse  and  worse. 

Emil.  How  if  fair  and  foolish? 

Iago.  She  never  yet  was  foolish  that  was  fair; 

20  For  even  her  folly  help’d  her  to  an  heir. 

Des.  These  are  old  fond  paradoxes  to  make  fools  laugh  i’ 
the  alehouse.  What  miserable  praise  hast  hou  for  her 
that’s  foul  and  foolish? 

25  Iago.  There’s  none  so  foul  and  foolish  thereunto, 

But  does  foul  pranks  which  fair  and  wise  ones  do. 

Des.  0 heavy  ignorance ! — thou  praisest  the  worst  best. 
But  what  praise  could’st  thou  bestow  on  a deserving 
woman  indeed,  one  that,  in  the  authority  of  her 
30  merit,  did  justly  put  on  the  vouch  of  very  malice  itself? 

Iago.  She  that  was  ever  fair  and  never  proud, 

Had  tongue  at  will  and  yet  was  never  loud, 

Never  lack’d  gold  and  yet  went  never  gay, 

Fled  from  her  wish  and  yet  said  “Now  I may,” 

35  She  that,  being  anger’d  her  revenge  being  nigh, 

Bade  her  wrong  stay  and  her  displeasure  fly, 

She  that  in  wisdom  never  was  so  frail 
To  change  the  cod's  head  for  the  salmon’s  tail, 

She  that  could  think  and  ne’er  disclose  her  mind, 

40  See  suitors  following  and  not  look  behind; 

She  was  a wight,  if  ever  such  wight  were, — 

Des . To  do  what? 

Iago.  To  suckle  fools  and  chronicle  small  beer, 

85 


Qago.  0 gnab'ge  gran,  nidft  forbert  fo  mid)  auf; 

$enn  id)  bin  nid)t3,  menu  id)  nidjt  laftern  barf. 

5)e§b.  @o  fang*  nur  an.  — ®ing  einer  fjin  pnt^afen? 
Sago.  S<*,  eble  5tau. 

5 3)e§b.  S<ft  &iu  nidjt  frol)tid),  bod)  oertplT  id)  gern 
2)en  innern  Quftanb  burd)  erborgten  ©cbeitt.  — 

9htn  fagy,  mie  lobft  bn  midj? 

Sago.  Set)  ftnnc  fd)on;  bod)  teiber,  mein  (Srfinben 
©eljt  ntir  born  ®obf,  loie  $8ogelleim  bom  grie^,  , 

10  ffteifjt  |rirn  nnb  ade§  mit.  SDod)  freifjt  bie  $htfe, 
linb  ioirb  alfo  entbunben: 

©elf  id)  fur  fdj5n  nnb  Hug  — iueif)  non  ©efidjt  nnb  ttnfcig, 
$ie  ©djontjeit  niitd  ben  2lnbent,  bnrd)  2Bi£  bie  ©djontjeit  nit£’  id). 
$ e § b.  ©ut  gelobt ! 2Benn  fie  nun  aber  braun  nnb  toitdg  ift  ? 

15  Sago.  Star.  bin  id)  braun  nnb  fonft  nur  leiblidj  toifeig, 
ginbr  id)  ben  toeifcen  Sreunb,  nnb  toa§  mir  feljlt,  befi|d  id). 
$)e§b.  ©djlimm  nnb  fdjtimmer!  — 

©mil.  2Benn  aber  eine  Ijitbfdj  toeift  nnb  rot,  unb  bumnt  ift? 
Sago.  §at  fie  ein  toeif)  ©efid)t,  fo  ift  fie  bumnt  mit  nidjten, 
20  2)enn  anf  ein  ®inb  toeifj  fid)  bie&itmmfte  felbft  p ridjten. 
^e^b.  $>a3  finb  abgefdjmadte  alte  9£eime,  nut  bie  barren 
im  53ierijaufe  pm  Sadjeit  p bringen.  28a§  fur  ein  er= 
bdrmtidje§  Sob  fjaft  bu  benn  fitr  eine,  bie  bja^Iicf)  unb 
bumm  ift? 

25  3 ago.  ®ein 9(ftdbdjen  ift  fo  bnmm  unbljafflid)  audj  gugleid^, 
£ro£  §itbfd)en  unb  ©efdjeiten  mad)t  fie  ’nen  butnmen  ©treidj. 
£)e§b.  0 grober  Unberftaitb ! S)u  peifeft  bie  ©djledjtefte  am 
beften.  2lber  toeldje§  Sob  bteibt  bir  fitr  eine  loirtlid)  ber= 
bienftbotle  gran?  fur  eine,  bie  in  bent  Slbel  itjre§  2Berte§ 
30  mit  9^edb)t  ben  $tu§fbrudj  ber  25o§ljeit  felbft  ljerau§forbern  barf  ? 
Sago.  4)ie  immer  fd)bn,  bodb)  nid)t  bent  ©tolj  bertraut, 

Won  gunge  flint,  trod)  niemal§  fpradj  p lant; 

9Hdjt  arm  an  (Mb,  nie  bunten  ©djmua  fid)  gonnte, 

2)en  2Bunfd)  erfticft,  unb  bennod)  ioeifj:  id)  fontttel 
35  $)ie  felbft  im  gont,  toenn  fftadje  nalj7  pr  §anb, 

£>ie  ®ranfung,,tragt  nnb  iljrett  ©roll  berbannt; 

^)te  nie  bonjilbermit)  fid)  lafft  beraufd)en, 

Siir  berbett  ©atm  ben  ©rihtbling  einptaufdjen ; 

©ie,  bie  Diet  benft,  bie  S^eigung  bodj  berfdjtoeigt 
40  Unb  feinen  $8lid  bem  ©d)tnarm  ber  ^Berber  ^eigt; 

^)ie  nennt’  id)  gut,  — todf  fie  nur  aufptreibeh,  — 

£>e§b.  9hut  fagr,  loop? 

Sago,  Sftarftt  aufppfj'n  unb  $)itnnbier  anpfdjreiben. 

25  4 


OTHELLO. 


Des.  0 most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion! — Do  no 
learn  of  him,  Emilia,  though  he  be  thy  husband.— Hoa 
say  you,  Cassio?  is  he  not  a most  profane  and  libera 
counsellor? 

5 Cas.  He  speaks  home,  madam:  you  may  relish  him  mor 
in  the  soldier  than  in  the  scholar. 

Iago.  \aside\  He  takes  her  by  the  palm:  ay,  well  said 
whisper:  with  as  little  a web  as  this  will  I ensnare  a 
f great  a fly  as  Cassio.  Ay,  smile  upon  her,  do;  I wil 
10  give  thee  in  thine  own  courtship.  You  say  true  ; ’tis  sc 
indeed:  if  such  tricks  as  these  strip  you  out  of  you 
lieutenantry,  it  had  been  better  you  had  not  kissed  you 
three  fingers  so  oft,  which  now  again  you  are  most  ap 
to  play  the  sir  in.  Very  good;  well  kissed!  an  excellen 
15  courtesy!  ’tis  so,  indeed.  Yet  again  your  fingers  t< 
your  lips?  would  they  were  clysterpipes  for  your  sake 

[ Trumpet  within 

— The  Moor!  I know  his  trumpet. 

20  Cas . ’Tis  truly  so. 

Des.  Let’s  meet  him  and  receive  him. 

Cas . Lo,  where  he  comes!  ; 

Enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 

25  Oth.  0 my  fair  warrior!  j 

Des.  My  dear  Othello! 

Oth.  It  gives  me  wonder  great  as  my  content 
To  see  you  here  before  me.  0 my  soul’s  joy! 

If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 

30  May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  waken’d  death! 

And  let  the  labouring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas 
Olympus-high  and  duck  again  .as  low 
As  hell’s  from  heaven!  If  it  were  now  to  die, 

’Twere  now  to  be  most  happy;  for,  I fear 
35  My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute, 

That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 

Des . The  heavens  forbid 

But  that  our  loves  and  comforts  should  increase, 

40  Even  as  our  days  do  grow! 

Oth.  Amen  to  that,  sweet  powers!  J 

I cannot  speak  enough  of  this  content; 

It  stops  me  here;  it  is  too  much  of  joy: 

26 


DHjeffo. 


S)e§b.  £)  liber  foldjen  Icemen,  ^tn!enben  — 

fierne  nid)t§  Don  iljm,  (Smilie,  tuenn  er  gleidj  beinsIftann 
ift.  — 3£a§  meint  i^r,  C^affto  ? 3ft  er  nicQt  ein  redjt  ^eil= 
lofer,  au§gelaffener  ©d)todt)er? 

5 (Saf.  (Sr  rebet  berb,  gnab’ge  gran;  ber  ©olbat  toirb  end) 
beffer  an  iljm  gefallen,  al§  ber  (Met) rte. 

3 ago.  (SBeifeitc.)  (Sr  faf$t  fie  bet  ber  §anb:  fo  redjt!  ftiiftert 
nur!  3JMt  ioldjent  fleinen  (Moebe  mitt  id)  eine  fo  grofte 
gliege  itmganten,  al§  (Saffio.  — 3^  tadjle  bu  fie  an!'  9^ur 
10  $u!  S)eine  eignen  ©djarrfiifje  fotten  bir  Seinfdjeffen  foerben. 

— ®an$  red)t  ! 3^  ber  £bat,  fo  iff  3,  — memt  fold)e9£fta* 
nierett  bid)  mn  betne  £ieutenantfd)aft  brtngen,  fo  mar’§  beffer 
gemefett,  bn  ptteft  beine  bret  ginger  nid)t  fo  oft  gefitfjt, 
mit  benen  bn  jetd  mieber  fo  ftattlid)  ben  ®at> alter  f^ielft.  — 
15  — ©eljr  gut!  2Bol)l  getiifd!  (Sine  berrltd)e  SSerbeugung! 

3a,  jo,  fo  ift’3!  — ©djott  mieber  bie  ginger  an  ben^ftunb? 
@o  moltf  id)  bod),  e§  mdren  ®U)ftierfpri£en  urn  beinet= 
mitten!  — [£rom))etenfto{j. 

$)er  SDfcoIjrl  3d)  fenne  fein  (Signal. 

20(£af.  (Sr  ifW. 

2)e§b.  SBir  motten  iijin  entgegen,  iljn  empfangen. 

(Saf.  S)a  fomnxt  er  fd)on. 

Dtfjetto  fommt  mit  ®efofge. 

25  £)tlj.  £ meine  Ijolbe  ^rieg’rin! 

$)e§b.  9ftein  Dtljetfo! 

£)tt)-  (Sin  SBunber  biinft  mid)%  grojj  luie  nteinc  grettbe, 
^)id)  fytx  p fet/n  Dor  ntir.  £)  mein  (Sntpcfen! 

SSenn  iebent  ©turrn  fo  Ijeifre  ©tide  folgt, 

30  ®ann  blaft,  Orlane,  bi£  ben  Zob  iljr  medt! 

®ann  ftintme,  ©d)iff,  bie  SBogenberg’  binan, 

tod)  mie  Dlt)ntp,  unb  taud)?  ^inunter  tief 
itnt  ©runb  ber  §otte!  ®atf  e§  }e£t  p fterben, 

3eld  mar’  mirr3  X)6d)fte  SBonne;  benn  id)  fiirdjte, 

35  @o  oode§  9Kaf$  ber  greube  fitttt  ntein  £)e% 

$)afj  nie  ein  anbre§  (Stud  ntir,  biefern  gleid), 

3nt  ©d)ofc  ber  Qufunft  §arrt 
S)e§b.  Sgerijute  ©ott, 

$)af)  unfre  £ieb*  unb  ®!itcf  nid)t  fodten  madjfen, 

40  28ie  unfrer  £age  galjl! 

0tb.  2lnten,  ib)r  bolben  ^ftadjte!  — 

■Sftidjt  auSpfaredjen  meifc  id)  biefe  28onne, 

§ier  ftodt  e§;  o,  e§  ift  p Diet  ber  greube! 

26  4* 


OTHELLO- 


And  this,  and  this,  the  greatest  discords  he  {Kissing her . 
That  e’er  our  hearts  shall  make! 
lago.  [aside]  0,  you  are  well  tuned  now! 

But  I’ll  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music, 

5 As  honest  as  I am. 

Oth.  Come,  let  us  to  the  castle. 

News,  friends;  our  wars  are  done,  the  Turks  are  drown’d. 
How  does  my  old  acquaintance  of  this  isle? 

Honey,  you  shall  be  well  desir’d  in  Cyprus; 

10  I’ve  found  great  love  amongst  them.  0 my  sweet, 

I prattle  out  of  fashion,  and  I dote 

In  mine  own  comforts. — I pr’ythee,  good  lago, 

Go  to  the  bay  and  disembark  my  coffers; 

Bring  thou  the  master  to  the  citadel; 

15  He  is  a good  one,  and  his  worthiness 

Does  challenge  much  respect. —Come,  Desdemona, 

Once  more,  well  met  at  Cyprus. 

[Exeunt  Othello,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 
lago  (To  a Servant.)  Do  thou  meet  me  presently  at  the 
20  harbour,  (to  Rodehigo.)  Come  hither.  If  thou  he’st  valiant, 
— as,  they  say,  base  men  being  in  love  have  then  a nobi- 
lity in  their  natures  more  than  is  native  to  them,— 
list  me.  The  lieutenant  to-night  watches  on  the  court- 
of-guard first,  I must  tell  thee  this— Desdemona  is 
25  directly  in  love  with  him. 

Rod.  With  him!  why,  ’tis  not  possible. 
lago.  Lay  thy  finger  thus,  and  let  thy  soul  be  instruc- 
ted. Mark  me  with  what  violence  she  first  loved 
the  Moor,  hut  for  bragging  and  telling  her  fantastical 
30  lies:  and  will  she  love  him  still  for  prating?  let  not 
thy  discreet  heart  think  it.  Her  eye  must  be  fed;  and 
what  delight  shall  she  have  to  look  on  the  devil? — 
When  the  blood  is  made  dull  with  the  act  of  sport, 
there  should  be,  again  to  inflame  it  and  to  give 
35  satiety  a fresh  appetite, — loveliness  in  favour,  sym- 

pathy in  years,  manners  and  beauties;  all  which  the 
Moor  is  defective  in:  now,  for  want  of  these  required 
conveniences,  her  delicate  tenderness  will  find  it- 
self abused,  begin  to  heave  the  gorge,  disrelish  and 
40  abhor  the  Moor;  very  nature  will  instruct  her  in  it, 

and  compel  her  to  some  second  choice.  Now,  sir, 
this  granted, — as  it  is  a most  pregnant  and  unfor- 


27 


Ptfretto. 


* 


Unb  bie§,  unb  bie§,  ber  grofde  TOftflartg  fei% 

S)en  unfer  $er^  je  tout.  ’ [@r  umarmt  fie. 

Qago.  (Seifeite.)  9?od)  feib  i^r  mofjlqeftimmt, 

3)odj  btefe§  (Einflattgg  SSirbel  fpann'  id)  aft, 

5 @o  toaljr  id)  ef)ritd)  bin. 

Otfj.  . (M)rn  roir  aufr§  ©djlofi.  — 

2Biftt  itjr’S?  3)cr  ®rieg  ift  cm3,  ber  ZnxV  ertranf. 

S&ie  ben  alien  greunbert  Ijier  anf  (Et)pern?  — 

Siebdjen,  bid)  ftrirb  man  fjodj  in  (Eljrett  fallen, 

0 gd)  fanb  §ier  grofce  ©unft.  € fiifeeg  £erj, 

3d)  fd)t ratje  alle§  burdj  einanber,  fdjmdrme 
3nt  neuen  (Sliicf.  — Qd)  bitf  bid),  guter  Qago, 

@e^  nad)  ber  S3ud)t  unb  fdjaff’  anr§  Sanb  bie  ®iften; 

S3  ring*  aud)  ben  ©djiffSljerrn  mir  $ur  (Eitabelle; 

5 (E§  ift  ein  ttmcfrer  ©eemanrt,  be§  SSerbienft 

3^  fort)  belo^neit  ntufj.  domin’,  $>e§bemona, 

9?od)ntal§  begritjjt  in  (Eluent ! 

[Dtijello,  SDeSbcmotta  mtb  ©efolge  ab. 

Sago.  U',u  einent  Sietter.)  ®et)’  bu  fogleidj  pm  .ft  a fen  unb 
0 ermarte  mid)  bort.  (Su  atobrigo.)  Somm’  nciber.  SBenn  bu 
ein  URantt  bift  — benn  man  jaat,  bafj  aud)  Tyetge,  rnenn  fie 
berliebt  finb,  fid)  p boberer  ©efimtung  erfjeben,  at8  itjnen 
angeboreit  mar  — fo  bore  mid)  an.  Set  Sieutenant  bat 
biefe  9iad)t  bie  SBudje  auf  bem  (2 cf) f o f;E) o f : — oorerft  aber 
5 muf;  icf)  bir  fagen:  SeSbemona  ift  ricbtiq  in  ibn  berliebt. 

9?  o b.  Sn  it)n  ? unmogtid). 

Sago.  Seg’  beinen  Singer  — fo;  unb  laff  bicf)  betebren, 
Sreunb:  befinne  bicE)  nur,  mie  beftig  fie  perft  ben  9Ro|ren 
Iiebte,  nur  meit  er  pra^Ite  unb  ibr  unerborte  Sitgen  auf= 
0 tifd)te.  SBirb  fie  ibn  imnter  fur  fein  ©djmafcen  lieben?  Sas 
tann  beine  berftanbige  ©eete  nicfjt  gtauben  molten.  Sbr 
Stuge  bertangt  9tat)rung,  unb  meidfeS  SBoblgefatten  fann 
ibr!?  gemabren,  ben  Seufet  anpfeb’n?  SBenn  baS  93tut 
burd)  ben  ©enuff  abgetiibtt  ift,  bann  bebarf  e§,  urn  fidb 
5 aufS  neue  ju  entftammen  unb  ber  ©attigunq  neue  Beqier 
p meden,  9lnmut  ber  ©eftatt,  Uebereinftimmung  in 
Sabren,  ©efittuna  unb  ©djonbeit;  unb  an  bem  alien  feMt’8 
bem  SWobren.  SRun,  beim  9Ranqet  alter  biefer  erfebnten 
vtnnebmlid)teiten  mirb  ibr  feiner  ©inn  fid)  getaufd)t  fiiditen  * 
» fie  mirb  beSTOobren  erft  fatt,  bann  itberbruffig  merben  unb 
enbltd)  ibn  berabfd)euen;  bie  iRatur  fetbft  mirb  fie  anleiten 
unb  fte  p einer  neuen  SBabt  treiben.  $Run,  Sreunb,  biefeS 
eingeraumt  — mie  e§  benn  eine  ganj  enoiefene  unb  unge= 
27 


OTHELLO. 


ced  position, — who  stands  so  eminent  in  the  degree 
of  this  fortune  as  Cassio  does?  a knave  very  voluble; 
no  further  conscionable  than  in  putting  on  the  mere 
form  of  civil  and  humane  seeming,  for  the  better  com- 
5 passing  of  his  salt  and  most  hidden  loose  affection?  why, 
none;  why,  none:  a slipper  and  subtle  knave;  a finder 
of  occasions,  that  has  an  eye  can  stamp  and  counterfeit 
advantages,  though  true  advantage  never  present  itself; 
a devilish  knave.  Besides,  the  knave  is  handsome,  young, 
10  and  hath  all  those  requisites  in  him  that  folly  and  green 
minds  look  after:  a pestilent  complete  knave;  and  the 
woman  hath  found  him  already. 

Rod.  I cannot  believe  that  in  her;  she’s  full  of  most 
blessed  condition. 

1 5 Iago.  Blessed  fig’s-end ! the  wine  she  drinks  is  made  of 
grapes : if  she  had  been  blessed,  she  would  never  have 
loved  the  Moor.  Blessed  pudding ! Didst  thou  not  see 
her  paddle  with  the  palm  of  his  hand?  didst  not 
mark  that? 

20  Rod.  Yes,  that  I did;  but  that  was  but  courtesy. 

Iago.  Lechery,  by  this  hand;  and  index  and  obscure 
prologue  to  the  history  of  lust  and  foul  thoughts. 
They  met  so  near  with  their  lips  that  their  breaths 
embraced  together.  Villanous  thoughts,  Koderigo! 
25  when  these  mutualities  so  marshal  the  way,  hard  at 
hand  comes  the  master  and  main  exercise,  the  incor- 
porate conclusion:  Pish!  But,  sir,  be  you  ruled  by 
me:  I have  brought  you  from  Venice.  Watch  you  to- 
night: for  the  command,  I’ll  lay’t  upon  you.  Cassio 
30  knows  you  not.  I’ll  not  be  far  from  you:  do  you 
find  some  occasion  to  anger  Cassio,  either  by  speaking  | 
too  loud,  or  tainting  his  discipline ; or  from  what 
other  course  you  please,  which  the  time  shall  more  - 
favourably  minister. 

35  Rod.  Well. 

Iago.  Sir,  he  is  rash  and  very  sudden  in  choler,  and 
haply  may  strike  at  you : provoke  him,  that  he  may ; for 
even  out  of  that  will  1 cause  these  of  Cyprus  to  mutiny ; 
whose  qualification  shall  come  into  no  true  taste  again 
40  but  by  the  displanting  of  Cassio.  So  shall  you  have  a i 
shorter  journey  to  your  desires  by  the  means  I shall 
then  have  to  prefer  them ; and  the  impediment  most 


28 


sDttjetto. 


ittmttgene  SorauSfefcung  ift  - mer  ftejt  mo1)l  fo  gemifs  auf 
ber  ©tufe  biefe?  ©tiicfs  alS  ©affio?  $er  SSube  ift  fetjr 
aemanbt  qemiffenf)aft  nur  fo  roeit,  atS  er  bie  aufeere  »orm 
eine«  fittfamen  unb  gebitbeten  33etragen§  annimmt,  um  feme 
5 toderen,  gebeimeit,  toilben  fjleigungen  um  fo  leister  p be= 
friebiqen.  — SKein,  feiner,  teiner  1 ein  glatter,  gefdptetbtger 
Sube;  ein  ©e(egenf)eitSf)afd)er,  beffenJBltdJBorteUe  jjragt 
unb  fatfcbmimp  menn  felbft  fein  rotrfitdier  Sorted 
barbietet:  ein  SeufelSbube ! itberbem  tft  ber  gube Jubfd), 
0 funq  unb  bat  alte  bie  ©rforberniffe,  monad)  5E|orf)eit  unb 
gritner  Serftanb  f|infd)ielen : ein  nerbainmter,  au8gemad)ter 
Sube ! unb  fie  fiat  ifm  fdjon  auSgefunben. 

5Rob.  ®a§  faun  id)  Oon  if)r  md)t  glauben,  fie  ift  Bon  t)od>ft 
fittfamer  ©eftmtung  . 

5 ^aao.  ©dfabe  ma§  um  ©ittfame ! ber  2Bein,  ben  fte  trmft, 
ift  au§  Srauben  gefcrejjt;  mare  fie  fo  fittfam,  bann  'latte  fte 
nie  ben  fOtobren  tieben  tonnen : fittfam  f)in  unb  ber!  ©aMt 
bu  nidjt,  mie  fie  mit  feiiter  fladjen  £>anb  tatfajeite?  -paft 
bu  ba§  nid)t  bemerft? 

>0  9ft  ob\  D fa;  aber  ba§  mar  nur  £mfnd)fett. 

an o.  Serbu|lt|eit,  bei  biefer  fmnb!  — ©me  ©mleitung 
unb  buntfer  f(5rofogu§  pm  ©djaufbiel  ber  2uft  unb  ber 
fcbnoben  ©ebanfen.  ©ie  famen  fid)  fo  nat)  mit  tbren 
Ben,  baff  it)f  6aud)  fid)  IieWofte.  Siibifdie  ©ebnn!en,  JRo= 
>b  briqo!  Sfientt  biefe  Sertraulid)feiten  fo  ben  2Beg  bafinen, 
fo  torn  nit  qleid)  binterbrein  ber  gmed  unb  bie  VluSubung, 
ber  fteifdffidie  S3efct)tufe ; be?  - «ber  greunb  lafe  bit 
raten  — id)  tjabe  bid)  Bon  Senebtg  |ergefuf)rt.  ©te| 
beute  S*ladit  mit  2Bad)e;  id)  netjme  e§  auf  mid),  btr  bemen 
50  Soften  anpmeifen:  ©affio  fennt  bid)  nid)t;  id)  merbe  nidjt 
meit  fein:  finbe  nur  eine  ©elegenbeit,  ©affio  pin  8orn  p 
reken,  fei’3  burc|  lauteS  ffteben,  ober  burd)  ©fmtt  uber  feme 
9Rann?pdjt,  ober  meld)en  anberu  ?tn(af;  bit  fonft  ma|r= 
nimrnft,  ben  bie  giinftige  geit  bir  ebett  barbietet. 


35  sJ£ob.  ®Ut.  . . ' 

Qaqo.  (£r  ift  ^eftig  unb  fe^r  ja^ormg  unb  fdjlagt  meUetdjt 
mit  jeinem  ©tabe  nad)  bir;  rei^e  i£)n  nur,  baft  tque, 
benn  ba§  geniigt  mir  fdjon,  um  bic  (St)prier  $um  vlufrugr 
m brinqen,  ber  nid)t  ttrieber  6efd)U>id)tigt  toerbeit  faun,  aI3 
burd)  (£affior3  2t6fefeung.  @o  finbeft  bu  einen  fitment  28eg 
m beinem  Biel  burd)  bie  Vittel,  bie  id)  bann  tjabe,  bir 
feorjdjub  gu  t£)un;  unb  toir  fdjajfen  ba§  ©inberniS  au§  bem 


OTHELLO. 


profitably  removed,  without  the  which  there  were  no 
expectation  of  our  prosperity. 

Rod.  I will  do  this,  if  I can  bring  it  to  any  opportunity. 

Iago . I warrant  thee.  Meet  me  by  and  by  at  the  citadel: 
5 I must  fetch  his  necessaries  ashore.  Farewell. 

Rod.  Adieu.  [Exit. 

Iago.  That  Cassio  loves  her,  I do  well  believe  it; 

That  she  loves  him,  ’tis  apt  and  of  great  credit: 

10  The  Moor  (howbeit  that  I endure  him  not) 

Is  of  a constant,  loving,  noble  nature; 

And  I dare  think  he’ll  prove  to  Desdemona 
A most  dear  husband.  Now,  I do  love  ber  too; 

Not  out  of  absolute  lust,  though  peradventure 
15  I stand  accountant  for  as  great  a sin, 

But  partly  led  to  diet  my  revenge, 

For  that  I do  suspect  the  lusty  Moor 

Hath  leap’d  into  my  seat ; the  thought  whereof 

Doth,  like  a poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards; 

20  And  nothing  can  or  shall  content  my  soul 
Till  I am  even’d  with  him,  wife  for  wife, 

Or  failing  so,  yet  that  I put  the  Moor 

At  least  into  a jealousy  so  strong 

That  judgement  cannot  cure.  Which  thing  to  do, 

25  If  this  poor  trash  of  Venice,  whom  1 trash 
For  his  quick  hunting,  stand  the  putting  on, 

I’ll  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip; 

Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  rank  garb — 

For  I fear  Cassio  with  my  night-cap  too; 

30  Make  the  Moor  thank  me,  love  me  and  reward  me, 

For  making  him  egregiously  an  ass 

And  practising  upon  his  peace  and  quiet 

Even  to  madness.  ’Tis  here,  but  yet  confus’d : 

Knavery’s  plain  face  is  never  seen  till  us’d.  [Exit. 


Scene  II.  A Street. 

Enter  a Herald  with  a proclamation ; People  following 

40  Her.  It  is  Othello’s  pleasure,  our  noble  and  valiant  gene- 
ral, that,  upon  certain  tidings  now  arrived,  importing  the 
mere  perdition  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  every  man  put  him- 
elf  into  triumph;  some  to  choice,  some  to  make  bon- 
gs 


Othello. 


2Bege,  obne  beffen  SBeftegung  fein  ©rfolg  ertoartet  toerbeu 
barf. 

9?ob.  3)a§  toiE  id)  tbun,  menu  bu  ntir  ©elegenbeit  giebft. 
3 ago.  $)afiir  fteb*  id)  bir.  $ontm"  nur  fogleid)  auf  bie 
5 ©ttabeEe,  id)  tnufe  febt  fein  ©e^acf  an§  Sanb  fdjaffen. 
Seb"  tool)!! 

9$ob.  ©ott  befoblen!  — [2U>. 

Sago,  ©ajfio  fie  liebt,  ba§  glaub"  id)  tool)!; 

$)afj  fte  xt)u  liebt,  ift  benfbar  unb  naturlid). 

10  £)er  Eftobr  (obfd)on  id)  ibm  Oon  §er§ett  gram) 

Sft  liebeO oiler,  treuer,  ebler  E!rt 

Unb  toirb  fur  S)e§bentona,  benf  id),  ftd)er 

©in  toacfrer  ©b'manit.  Setd  lieb’  id)  fie  aud); 

Ettdjt  par  au§  Sufternljeit  — toietoobl  EieEeid)t 
15  EUcbt  flein're  @iinbe  mir  p ©dplben  fommt  — 

Eton,  mebr  urn  meine  Etod)"  an  ibm  p toeiben, 

2Beit  id)  Oermute,  baft  ber  ii^rge  2ftofjr 
EKir  in§  ©ebege  !ant:  unb  ber  ©ebante 
Etogt  toie  ein  freffenb  ©ift  an  meinem  Snnern; 

20  EHd)t§  !ann  unb  foE  mein  ®erj  berubigen, 

E3i§  id)  fym  toett  getoorben,  EBeib  urn  ^SSeib ; 

Dber.  fd)Iagt  Me§'mir  febt,  bring"  id)  ben  Eftobren 

Sn  ©iferfudjt  fo  toilber  Etrt,  baff  nie 

$ernunft  fie  ^eilen  !ann.  $)ie§  p ooEbringen  — 

25  £)d!t  nur  mein  ®bter  Oou  ESenebig  ©tanb, 

2) en  icf)  mir  fob"re  p ber  fdpeEen  Qagb  — 

$adr  id)  ben  Ettidjael  ©affio  bet  ber  $ufte, 

ESerfdjtoara’  ibn  bann  bem  ERojfjren  al3  gefa^rlid) ; 

3) enn  ©affio  fiirdjt7  id)  and)  fur  mein  ©efbon§. 

30  ©o  band  Dfl)eEo  mir%  debt  tnid),  betobnt  mid), 

^)afe  id)  fo  ftattlid)  ibn  pm  ©fel  mad)te 
Unb  feine  EUd)"  unb  greub"  ibm  untergrub 
gum  ESabnfinn.  — Qa,  bier  liegt’3,  nod)  nicfjt  entfaltet; 
®ie  E3o§beit  toirb  burd)  X$at  erft  gan^  geftattet.  [%b. 
35 


-Broetfc  Sejtte.  ©ine  ©trafte. 

(Sin  £e  rotb  tritt  auf. 

40  £er.  ($§  ift  Duello’S,  unfreS  ebleit  unb  tapfern  ©enerals 
aBunjd),  baft  auf  bie  juoertiiffige,  jefct  ehtgegangene  fKacfc 
rtc£)t  Bon  ber  ganjltcf)en  SSernid)tung  ber  turfMen  fflotte 
jebermann  feine  ffreube  !unb  tijue ; fei  es  burd)  Sanj  obcr 

20 


OTHELLO. 


fires,  each  man  to  what  sport  and  revels  his  addiction 
leads  him:  for,  besides  these  beneficial  news,  it  is  the 
celebration  of  his  nuptial.  So  much  was  his  pleasure 
should  be  proclaimed.  All  offices  are  open,  and  there 
5 is  full  liberty  of  feasting  from  this  present  hour  of  five 
till  the  hell  have  told  eleven.  Heaven  bless  the  isle  of 
Cyprus  and  our  noble  general  Othello!  [ Exeunt . 


10  Scene  HI.  A Hall  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio  and  Attendants. 

Oth.  Good  Michael,  look  you  to  the  guard  to-night: 

15  Let’s  teach  ourselves  that  honourable  stop, 

Not  to  outsport  discretion. 

Cas.  Iago  hath  direction  what  to  do; 

But,  notwithstanding,  with  mv  personal  eye 
Will  I look  to  t. 

20  Oth.  Iago  is  most  honest. 

Michael,  good  night:  to-morrow  with  your  earliest 
Let  me  have  speech  with  you.  [To  Desdemona.]  Come, 
my  dear  love, 

The  purchase  made,  the  fruits  ’are  to  ensue; 

25  That  profit’s  yet  to  come  ’tween  me  and  you. 

Good  night.  [Exeunt  Othello,  Desdemona,  and  Attend. 

Enter  Iago. 

Cas.  Welcome,  Iago;  we  must  to  the  watch. 

30  Iago.  Not  this  hour,  lieutenant;  ’tis  not  yet  ten  o’  the 
clock.  Our  general  cast  us  thus  early  for  the  love  of 
his  Desdemona;  who  let  us  not  therefore  blame:  he 
hath  not  yet  made  wanton  the  night  with  her;  and  she 
is  sport  for  Jove. 

35  Cas.  She’s  a most  exquisite  lady. 

Iago.  And,  I’ll  warrant  her,  full  of  game. 

Cas.  Indeed,  she’s  a most  fresh  and  delicate  creature. 
Iago.  What  an  eye  she  has!  methinks  it  sounds  a parley 
of  provocation. 

40  Cas.  An  inviting  eye;  and  yet  methinks  right  modest. 

Iago . And  when  she  speaks,  is  it  not  an  alarum  to  love  ? 


30 


£tfjcKo. 


Suftfeuer,  ober  trie  ibn  fonft  feine  9?eigung  §u  (Spiel  unb 
$urp>cit  treibt;  benn  aufser  jenent  erfreuliajen  ©reigni§ 
feiert  er  f)eute  feine  pod)§eit : foIdje§  mirb  auf  jeinen  S3efept 
au§gerufen.  9lIXe  ©ale  be§  $alafte§  ftnb  geoffnet,  unb  botie 
5 greif)eit  p ©djmauS  unb  fjeft  bon  jet)t  fiinf  IXpr  an,  bi§ 
bie  elfte  ©tmtbe  gefd)Iagen.  $)er  pintmel  fegne  bie  gnfel 
©tpern  unb  unfern  eblen  (General  £)tbetto.  [3t&. 


10  Drttte  %nc.  © cp  l o ft. 

Otfjello,  3)e§bemona,  (£ a f f i o uitb  ©efolgc  trcten  auf. 

£)tf).  9Kein  lieber  TOdjael,  ^alf  ja  genaue  2Bad)e  biefeSftadjt. 

15  SSir  miiffen  felbft  auf  etjrbar  2D?aj3  bebad)t  fein, 

£)af3  nid)t  bie  £uft  itnbcinbig  merbe. 

©af.  Sago  marb  fdfon  befebugt,  ma§  p tftim ; 

®ocf)  aufjerbem  nocb  fott  mein  eigne§  2tuge 
Wuf  ade3  feb’n. 

20  £)tb-  Qago  ift  treu  bemabrt. 

©ut’  9^acf)t ! auf  morgen  mit  bem  friipeften 
pab7  id)  niit  bir  p reben.  (p  ©csbcmona)  $ommr,  ©e= 
Xxebte 

$)en  $rei§  erring!  fid),  mer  ben  panbet  fd)Ioft ; 

25  2Bir  teilen  ibn,  mein  ftolber  SJiitgenofj. 

©uf  5^ad)t.  [Othello,  3De§bemona  unb  ©efolge  ab. 

Sago  tritt  auf. 

©af.  28idfomnten,  Qago!  mtr  miiffen  auf  bie  2Bad)e. 

30  Set 00.  Qe^t  nod)  niajt,  Sieutenant ; e§  ift  nod)  nidjt 
^ebn  Ut)r.  Unfer  ©eneral  fcXjicft  un§  fo  friip  fort  au3  Siebe 
p feiner  S)e§bemona,  unb  tnir  bitrfen  ibn  brum  nieftt 
tabeln;  e§  ift  feine  erfte  gliidtidje  S^adit,  unb  fie  ift  Supiter^ 
miirbig. 

35  ©af.  ©ie  ift  eine  unt>ergteid)lid)e  gran. 

Saao.  Hub  bafiir  ftep7  id),  fie  bat  geuer. 

©af.  ©emifs,  fie  ift  ein  blitt)enbe§,  fitfte^  ©efd)o£>f. 

Sago.  SBeXcft7  ein  5Xuae!  9DUr  fefieint  e§  mie  ein  5tufrnf  mr 
SSerfiibrung. 

40  ©af.  ©in  etnlabenbe§  2tuge;  nub  bod),  mie  mir  febeint,  ein 
bod) ft  fittfameS. 

Qago.  Unb  menu  fie  fprid)t,  iff§  nieftt  eine  peranSforbernng 
pr  Siebe? 


30 


OTHELLO. 


Cas.  She  is,  indeed,  perfection. 

/ago.  Well,  happiness  to  their  sheets!  Come,  lieutenant, 
I have  a stoup  of  wine;  and  here  without  are  a brace 
of  Cyprus  gallants  that  would  fain  have  a measure  to 
5 the  health  of  black  Othello. 

Cas.  Not  to-night,  good  Iago:  I have  very  poor  and  un- 
happy brains  for  drinking:  I could  well  wish  courtesy 
would  invent  some  other  custom  of  entertainment. 

10  Iago . 0,  they  are  our  friends;  but  one  cup:  I’ll  drink 

for  you. 

Cas.  I have  drunk  but  one  cup  to-night,  and  that  was 
craftily  qualified  too,  and,  behold,  what  innovation  it 
makes  here : I am  unfortunate  in  the  informity,  and  dare 
15  not  task  my  weakness  with  any  more. 

Iago.  What,  man!  ’tis  a night  of  revels:  the  gallants  de- 
sire it. 

Cas.  Where  are  they? 

Iago.  Here  at  the  door;  I pray  you,  call  them  in. 

20  Cas.  I’ll  do’t;  but  it  dislikes  me.  [Exit. 

Iago.  If  I can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him, 

With  that  which  he  hath  drunk  to-night  already, 

He’ll  be  as  full  of  quarrel  and  offence 
As  my  young  mistress’  dog.  Now,  my  sick  fool  Roderigo, 
25  Whom  love  hath  turn’d  almost  the  wrong  side  out, 

To  Desdemona  hath  to-night  caroused 
Potations  pottle-deep;  and  he’s  to  watch: 

Three  lads  of  Cyprus,  noble  swelling  spirits, 

That  hold  their  honours  in  a wary  distance, 

30  The  very  elements  of  this  warlike  isle, 

Have  I to-night  fluster’d  with  flowing  cups, 

And  they  watch  too.  Now,  ’mongst  this  flock  of  drunk- 
Am  I to  put  our  Cassio  in  some  action  [ards, 

That  may  offend  the  isle. — But  here  they  come: 

35  If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream, 

My  boat  sails  freely,  both  with  wind  and  stream. 

Re-enter  Cassio,  followed  by  Montano  and  Gentlemen ; 

Servants  following  with  wine. 

40  Cas.  ’Fore  heaven,  they  have  given  me  a rouse  already. 

Mon . Good  faith,  a little  one ; not  past  a pint,  as  I am  a 
soldier. 


31 


Ottjeffo. 


©af.  ©ie  ift  in  ber  SDjat  bie  $odfommenbeit  felbft. 

Q a go.  9hm,  £>eil  ibrem  93ette ! ^omm’,  lieutenant,  id)  babe 
etn  ©titbd)en  Sein  nnb  bier  brau^en  finb  ein  baar  munfre 
Sungen  au§  ©bbern,  bte  gern  eine  $lafd)e  auf  bie  ©ejunb' 
5 t)eit  be£  fdjmar^en  Duetto'  au3fted)en  molten. 

©af.  $ftid)t  ^exxte  9tbenb,  lieber  Sago;  id)  §abe  einen  febr 
fdjmadjen,  unglitdlid)en  ®obf  sum  Xxinlen.  9ftir  mdr’S 
lieb,  menu  bie  §bflid)feit  eine  anbere  ©itte  ber  Unterbaltung 
erfdnbe. 

10  Sago.  £)  e§  finb  gute^reunbe!  Sfcur  einen  23ed)er;  id)  mid 
fill*  bid)  trinten. 

©af.  S d)  ^abe  beute  2(benb  nur  einen  SBedjer  getrunten,  ber 
nod)  ba^u  ftar!  mit  Laffer  gemifd)t  mar,  nnb  fietj7  nur,  mie 
eS  mid)  Derdnbert  bat.  3d)  bafce  leiber  biefe  ©djmadjbeit 
15  nnb  barf  meinen  ®raften  nicbt  mebr  pmuten. 

Sago.  ©i,  Sieber,  e§  ift  ja  gaftnadjt  b^utel  3)ie  jungcn 
Sente  mitnfd)en  eS. 

©af.  So  finb  fie? 

Sago.  §ier  Dor  ber  ^b^r;  id)  bitte  bid),  rufe  fie  herein. 

20  ©af.  3d)  mid’S  tbun,  aber  eS  gefd)iebt  ungern.  [@r  gefjt  afc. 

Sago.  Senn  id)  ibm  nur  ©in  ©Ia§  anfbrdngen  faun 
git  bent,  maS  er  an  biefent  21  ben  b tranr, 

Sirb  er  fo  DoTIer  gant  nnb  Srger  fein 
2US  einer  2)ame  ©djofjbunb.  — Sftobrigo  nun,  mein  ©imbet, 
25  $>en  Siebe  mie  rnen  fmnbfdjub  umgemenbet, 

§at  3)eSbemonen  mancben  tiefen  §umben 
f>eut  jnbelnb  fcbon  geleert  nnb  muf)  sur  Sadje. 

$)rei  jmtgen  ©bbrern,  b°ef)geftnnt  xtnb  rafdj, 

Sm  $untt  ber  ©bre  fed  nnb  leidjt  gerei^t, 

30  $em  mabren  2lu§bunb  bier  ber  mut’gen  Sngenb, 

©a b;  id)  mit  Doden  gtafdjen  &ugefefct; 

4>ie  mad)en  aud).  — 9?un,  in  ber  trunfnen  ©d)ar 
OMs7  id)  §errn  ©affio  mot)t  $u  foldjer  Zfyat, 

S£)ie  ade§  bier  embbrt.  — &od)  ftid,  fie  fomnten.  — 

35  £>at  nux  maS  jetd  mein  $obf  erfinnt, 

4)ann  fdbrt  mein  ©d)iff  mit  Dodem  ©trout  nnb  Sinb. 

(£§  fommert  (£  affio,  Montano  unb  meljrere  (SbeUeute. 

40  ©a).  9tuf  @t)re,  fiaben  fie  mir  nidjt  fcfjon  einen  fiieb  t>eiqe= 
brad)t  l 

^ ^er  mare  flein!  ftanm  eine  gtafdie,  fo  mabr  id) 

etn  ©otbat  btnl  f 1 ' 1 


Si 


OTHELLO. 


Iago . Some  wine,  ho!  [Sings. 

And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink ; 

And  let  me  the  canakin  clink: 

A soldier’s  a man! 

5 A life’s  but  a span ; 

Why,  then,  let  a soldier  drink. 

Some  wine,  boys! 

Cas.  ’Fore  God,  an  excellent  song. 

Iago.  I learned  it  in  England,  where,  indeed,  they  are 
10  most  potent  in  potting:  your  Dane,  your  German/  and 
your  swag-bellied  Hollander  — Drink,  ho!  — are  no- 
thing to  your  English. 

Cas.  Is  your  Englishman  so  expert  in  his  drinking? 

Iago.  Why,  he  drinks  you,  with  facility,  your  Dane  dead 
15  drunk;  he  sweats  not  to  overthrow  your  Almain;  he 
gives  your  Hollander  a vomit,  ere  the  next  pottle  can  he 
filled. 

Cas.  To  the  health  of  our  general! 

Mon.  1 am  for  it,  lieutenant ; and  I’ll  do  you  justice. 

20 

Iago.  0 sweet  England! 

King  Stephen  was  a worthy  peer,  [Sings. 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a crown; 

He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 

25  With  that  he  call’d  the  tailor  lown. 

He  was  a wight  of  high  renown, 

And  thou  art  but  of  low  degree: 

’Tis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down; 

30  Then  take  thine  auld  cloak  about  thee. 

Some  wine,  ho ! 

Cas.  Why,  this  is  a more  exquisite  song  than  the  other. 
Iago.  Will  you  hear  ’t  again  ? 

Cas.  No;  for  I hold  him  to  be  unworthy  of  his  place  that 
35  does  those  things.  Well,  God’s  above  all;  and  there 
be  souls  must  be  saved,  and  there  be  souls  must  not 
be  saved. 

lag.  It’s  true,  good  lieutenant. 

Cas.  For  mine  own  part, — no  offence  to  the  general, 

40  nor  any  man  of  quality, — I hope  to  be  saved. 

Iago.  And  so  do  I too,  lieutenant. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  by  your  leave,  not  before  me ; the  lieutenant 
is  to  be  saved  before  the  ancient.  Let’s  have  no 


32 


DtfjetCo. 


Sago.  28ein  fa%\  [©itigt. 

©tofh  an  mit  bent  ©fafefein,  fling!  fling! 

©tofjt  an  mit  bent  ©fafefein,  ffinqt! 

3)er  ©olbat  ift  ein  9ttann, 

5 ©a§  fieben  etn’  ©bannr, 

$)rum  fuftig,  ©ofbaten,  nnb  trinft! 

2Bein  ber,  23urfd)en!'  — 

©af.  2Iuf  (Sbre,  etn  afferfiebfte§  £ieb. 

Sago.  3$  ^cibr§  tn  (Sngfanb  gefernt,  too  fie,  ba§  mufs  ntan 
10  fagen,  fid)  getoaftig  anf  ba&  ^Becfjern  Oerftefjen.  (Suer  SDane, 
euer  2)eutfd)er,  euer  bicfbducljiger  ^offanber,  — p trinfen, 
be!  — finb  atle  nidjt§  gegen  ben  (Sngfanber. 

(Saf.  3ft  bentt  ber  ©ngfanber  fo  fef)r  au^bitnbig  int  trinfen  ? 
Sago.  (Si  toobf!  ben  $)anen  trinft  er  end)  nth  ©entdd)fid)= 
15  feit  untern  £ifd);  e§  toirb  ibjn  toenig  angreifen,  ben  ®eut= 
fdjen  fa^ott  p tnad)en;  nnb  ben  §offdnber  pingt  er  pr 
tlebergabe,  e|r  ber  nddjfte  §ttmben  gefiilft  toerben  fann. 
(Saf.  $uf  unfreS  ©ottnerttettrS  ©efmtbbeit! 

SCftont.  i)a  trinf  id)  mit,  lieutenant,  nnb  id)  tuiU  end) 

20  fdfeib  tbun. 

Sugo  £>  ba§  fiebe  (Sngfanb!  — [@iugt. 

$bnig  ©te^^an  toar  ein  toad’rer  §efb, 

(Sine  $rone  foftef  ibnt  fein  3fod: 

£)a§  fanb  er  unt  fed)  3 ©rot  gep  refit 
25  Hnb  fdjaft  ben  ©d)neiber  einen  S3ocf. 

Hnb  toar  ein  fjurft  non  grower  $iad)t, 

Hnb  bn  bift  fold)7  geringer  learnt: 

©tol§  ^ at  ntandj*  §au§  p gaff  gebrad)t, 

30  S)rum  pb’  ben  aften  Vittel  an. 

28ein  ber,  fag’  id)!  — 

(Saf.  (Si,  ba§  Sieb  ift  nod)  nief  berrfidfer  af§  ba§  erfte. 
Sago.  feoUt  if)r7§  nod)ntaf§  pren? 

(Saf.  S'ceitt,  benn  id)  glattbe,  ber  ift  feiner  ©teffe  untoiirbig, 
35  ber  fo  toa§  tbut.  — 28ie  gefagt,  — ber  gimntef  ift  itber 
un§  alien;  — nnb  e§  finb  ©eefen,  bie  mitffen  fefig  toerben 
— nnb  anbre,  bie  mitffen  n:d)t  fefig  toerben. 

So  go.  ©ef)r  toabr,  Ueber  Sieutenant. 

(Saf-  3d)  meineSteifS  - obne  bem  ©eneraf  ober  fonft  einer 
40  boben  $ erf  on  norpgreifen  — id)  boffe,  felig  p toerben. 

tago.  Hnb  id)  and),  lieutenant, 
af.  5lber,  mit  eurer  (SrfaubniS,  niebt  nor  mir  — ber  Sieute* 
nant  mu&  nor  bem  Sdbnbrid)  fefig  toerben.  $un  genng 

32 


OTHELLO. 


more  of  this ; let’s  to  our  affairs. — Forgive  us  our 
sins! — Gentlemen,  let’s  look  to  our  business.  Do  not 
think,  gentlemen,  I am  drunk:  this  is  my  ancient; 
this  is  my  right  hand,  and  this  is  my  left:  I am 
5 not  drunk  now ; I can  stand  well  enough,  and  speak 
well  enough. 

All.  Excellent  well. 

Cas.  Why,  very  well,  then;  you  must  not  think,  then,  that 
10  I am  drunk.  [Exit. 

Mon.  To  the  platform,  masters ; come,  let’s  set  the  watch. 

/ago.  You  see  this  fellow  that  is  gone  before; 

He  is  a soldier  fit  to  stand  by  Caesar 
And  give  direction:  and  do  but  see  his  vice; 

15  ’Tis  to  his  virtue  a just  equinox, 

The  one  as  long  as  th’  other:  ’tis  pity  of  him. 

I fear  the  trust  Othello  puts  him  in, 

On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 

Will  shake  this  island. 

20  Mon.  But  is  he  often  thus? 

/ago.  ’Tis  evermore  the  prologue  to  his  sleep: 

He’ll  watch  the  horologe  a double  set, 

If  drink  rock  not  his  cradle. 

Mon.  It  were  well 

25  The  general  were  put  in  mind  of  it. 

Perhaps  he  sees  it  not;  or  his  good  nature 
Prizes  the  virtue  that  appears  in  Cassio, 

And  looks  not  on  his  evils:  is  not  this  true? 

20  Enter  Roderigo. 

lago.  [aside  to  him\  How  now,  Roderigo! 

I pray  you,  after  the  lieutenant ; go ! 

[Exit  Roderigo. 

Mon.  And  ’tis  great  pity  that  the  noble  Moor 
35  Should  hazard  such  a place  as  his  own  second 
With  one  of  an  ingraft  infirmity: 

It  were  an  honest  action  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor. 

Iago . Not  I,  for  this  fair  island: 

40  I do  love  Cassio  well;  and  would  do  much 

To  cure  him  of  this  evil. — But,  hark!  what  noise? 

[Cry  within'.  “Help!  help!” 
Re-enter  Cassio,  driving  in  Roderigo. 

33 


gHfjeHo. 


pieoon ; rnir  to  oil  ert  auf  unfre  ^often  — $ergieb  un§  unfre 
6itnben!  — 9fteine  ^errtt,  mir  moKen  ttad)  unferm  ®ienft 
fep'u.  — Qfyr  miipt  nid)t  glauben,  meine  £>erren,  bap  id)  be= 
trunfen  jei  — bie$  ift  mein  $apnbrid),  — bie§  ift  meine 
5 red)te  £anb  — bie§  meine  tinte  §anb  — id)  bin  alfo  nid)t 
betrunfen;  id)  ftepe  nod)  $iemlid)  gut  unb  fpredje  nod) 
jiemlid)  gut. 

9t  1 1 e.  ftuperorbentlid)  gut. 

(£af.  9?un,  red)t  gut  atfo;  tpr  miipt  atfo  nid)t  tneinen,  baft 
10  id)  betrunfen  jet.  [®r  getjt  at>. 

9ft  ont.  3ept  gitr  Xerraffe;  lafet  bie  SBadjen  ft e Ken ! 

3 ago.  3)  a fept  ben  jitngen  9ftann,  ber  eben  ging ! — 

(£in  $rieger,  to  ert,  beirn  ©afar  fetbft  (^u  ftep’n 
Unb  befeplen;  bod)  ipr  fept  fein  Softer: 

15  . (£§  ift  ba§  9tequinoftium  feiner  £uqeitb, 

(£in§  gan^  bem  anbern  ateid).  '3  ift  6d)ab’  urn  it)it! 

£)a§  gutrau’n,  fiircpf  icq,  ba§  ber  9ftopr  ipnt  fcpenft, 
SBringt  (£t)pern  Ungliicf,  trifft  bie  6d)mad)peit  ipn 
Qtt  ungeleg'ner  6tunbe. 

20  9ft  ont.  3ft  er  oft  fo? 

3ago.  @o  ift  er  immer  bor  bem  ©cptafengep'n: 

(£r  ioad)t  be$  Qeiger§  UmfreiS  §tt>eimal  butd), 

5Biegt  ipn  ber  Xrunt  nid)t  ein. 

9ft out.  $)amt  mar'  e§  gut, 

25  9ftan  melbete  ben  $att  bem  General; 

$BieKeid)t,  bap  er'§  nid)t  fiept;  bieKeid)t  gemaprt 
6ein  gute3  |>erft  bie  Xugettb  nur  am  ©affio, 

Unb  ipm  entgep'n  bie  gepler ; ift?£  nid)t  fo?  — 

oq  9tobrigo  tritt  auf. 

3 ago  (6eifeite>.  2$a§  foHr3,  ftobrigo? 

3dt  bitf  end),  folgt  bem  Sieutenant  nad)  — fo  gept! 

[tftobrtgo  a&. 

9ft  ont.  Unb  maprtid)  <Sd)abe,  bap  ber  ebte  9ft  opr 
35  @o  mid)fgen  $Iap  al§  feinent  xmeiten  @elbft 

SDent  9ftaun  bertraut,  in  bem  bie  ®d)toad)peit  mucpert. 

3)er  tpatT  ein  gute3  2£erf,  mer  bie$  bem  9ftopren 
Qmtbecfte. 

3 a go.  3d)  nintmerntepr,  nid)t  fur  gan^  (£t)pern. 

40  3(p  Itebe  ©affio  fapr  unb  gabe  Kiel, 

$bnnf  id)  ipn  peiten.  — §ord)!  58a3  fur  ein  Stan? 

[SWtut  ruft  Ijirtter  ber  ©sene:  £>ilfe!  $ttfe! 

(5afjio  fornmt  auriitf  unb  berfotgt  belt  3tob  rtgo. 


5 


OTHELLO. 


10 


15 


20 


Cas.  You  rogue!  you  rascal! 

Mon.  What’s  the  matter,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  A knave  teach  me  my  duty ! 

I’ll  beat  the  knave  into  a twiggen  bottle. 

Rod.  Beat  me ! 

Cas.  Dost  thou  prate,  rogue?  [ Striking  Roderigo. 

Mon.  Nay,  good  lieutenant ; [Staying  him. 

I pray  you,  sir,  hold  your  hand. 

Cas.  Let  me  go,  sir, 

Or  I’ll  knock  you  o’er  the  mazard. 

Mon.  Come,  come,  you’re  drunk. 

Cas.  Drunk!  [They  fight, 

dago,  [aside  to  Roderigo]  Away,  I say;  go  out,  and  cry 
a mutiny!  [Exit  Roderigo. 

Nay,  good  lieutenant,  — alas,  gentlemen ; — 

Help,  ho!  — Lieutenant,  — sir,  — Montano,  — sir;  — 
Help,  masters ! — Here’s  a goodly  watch  indeed ! [Bell rings. 
Who’s  that  which  rings  the  bell?  — Diablo,  ho! 

The  town  will  rise:  — God’s  will,  lieutenant,  hold; 

You  will  be  sham’d  for  ever. 


Re-enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 


Oth.  What  is  the  matter  here? 

Mon.  ’Zounds,  I bleed  still;  I am  hurt  to  the  death. 

25  [Faints. 

Oth.  Hold,  for  your  lives! 

dago.  Hold,  ho ! Lieutenant,  — sir,  - Montano,  — gentlemen, 
Have  you  forgot  all  sense  of  place  and  duty? 

Hold!  the  general  speaks  to  you;  hold,  for  shame! 

30  Oth.  Why,  how  now,  ho!  from  whence  ariseth  this? 

Are  we  turn’d  Turks,  and  to  ourselves  do  that 
Which  heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites? 

For  Christian  shame,  put  by  this  barbarous  brawl: 

He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage 
35  Holds  his  soul  light;  he  dies  upon  his  motion. 

Silence  that  dreadful  bell:  it  frights  the  isle 
From  her  propriety.  What  is  the  matter,  masters? 
Honest  Iago,  that  look’st  dead  with  grieving, 

Speak,  who  began  this?  on  thy  love,  I charge  thee. 

40  dago.  I do  not  know:  friends  all  but  now,  even  now, 

In  quarter,  and  in  terms  like  bride  and  groom 
Devesting  them  for  bed;  and  then,  hut  now, 

(As  if  some  planet  had  unwitted  men), 

34 


Otfjetfo. 


(£af.  3>u  £umb!  $)it  Xblpel! 

9ft  ont.  9?un,  mag  ift  end),  lieutenant? 

(£af.  3)er  ©djurTe!  ^flid)t  mid)  tebren?  2Barf,  in  eine 
$orbf(afdje  priigl7  id)  i^n  fyinein,  ben  3Bid)t!  — 

5 9?ob.  sJSJiid)  prugeln? 

(£af.  9ttudft  bu*  $ert? 

9Jc  o it  t.  ©till,  tieber  lieutenant ! [@r  rtatt  ben  £ a f f i o auutcf. 

3d)  bitf  eud),  tjaltet  ein ! 

©af.  §err,  lafet  mid)  geb’tt, 

10  ©onft  ftetd)nr  id)  eure  gfto&e  — 

ont.  ©ebt,  ibr  feib  trunfen!  — 

(£af.  Xruttfen?  [@ie  fedjten. 

3 a go.  grort,  fagT  id)!  (Ceifc  &u3?obrigo.)  ©if  unb  rnfe  90leu- 
terei ! [9t  o b r i g o ab. 

15  ©till  bod),  §err  fiientenant!  ©till  bod),  liebe  £>errn! 

£>e,  $ulfe!  Sieutenant,  — §e rr,  — Montano,  — $err!  — 
|>etft,  9tod)barn!  — sJtun,  bag  ift  rne  faub’re  28ad)e! 
feer  ^ieb)t  bie  ©lode  benn?  £),  ®iat)oio ! 

$)ie  ©tabt  mirb  mad)  — ^fui,  ui  bod),  lieutenant!  l)att! 
20  3bt  titadjt  end)  em'ge  ©d)anbe. 

Othello  fommt  mit  (Sefotge. 

£)tb-  9$ag  giebt  eg  t)ier?  — 

9)1  ont.  Qd)  blnte!  ©r  traf  inid)  tottid)!  ©terben  foft  er! 

25  [93rirftt  auf  (tinmen. 

£tt).  33ei  eurem  Sebett,  t)att ! — 

3 a g o.  ftalt,  lieutenant ! £>err ! — Montano,  — Hebe  £>errn,  — 
$ergaf)t  if)t  atten  ©inn  fiir  9?ang  unb  $ftid)t?  — 

£>alt!  b^t  ben  (General!  £)  fdjdmt  eud)!  bfdt!  — 

30  Dtb-  $8ag  giebt  eg  b icr ? 28ober  entfpann  fid)  bieg? 

©ittb  nur  benn  Xiirfen?  £bun  ung  felber  bag, 

28ag  ben  Unglctubigen  ber  pummel  mebrte? 

©cbdtnt  eud)  alg  ©griften!  &af)t  eurr  beibnifd)  ^aufen! 
$3er  fid)  nod)  riibrt  unb  jauntt  nid)t  feine  58  ut, 

35  3)er  )oagt  fein  £eben  bran!  ein  ©d)ritt  ift  Stob. 

©till  tnit  bent  ©turmgeldut!  ©g  fd)redt  bie  3nfel 
9lug  ibrer  gaffung.  58ag  gefebab,  ib^  §errn? 

©brlidjcr  3ago,  bu  fiebft  bleidj  nor  ©rain; 

©prid),  mer  bub  an?  23ei  beiner  8iebT,  id)  mitfg. 

10  3 ago.  3^)  weift  nid)t.  3reunbe  jet)t  rtod),  jc|U  im  sJ?u, 
£iebreidj  unb  gut  mie  SBrfiutigatn  unb  53raut, 

58enn  fie  $u  58ette  geb’n:  unb  brauf  im  9?u 
(?(lg  ob  fie  b^tid)'  ein  planet  nermirrt), 

Si  5* 


OTJlHiJLiiO. 


Swords  jac,  and  tilting  one  at  other’s  breast, 

In  opposition  bloody.  I cannot  speak 
Any  beginning  to  this  peevish  odds: 

And  would  in  action  glorious  I had  lost 
5 Those  legs  that  brought  me  to  a part  of  it! 

Oth.  How  comes  it,  Michael,  you  are  thus  forgot? 

Cas.  I pray  you,  pardon  me;  I cannot  speak. 

Oth . Worthy  Montano,  you  were  wont  be  civil; 

The  gravity  and  stillness  of  your  youth 

10  The  world  hath  noted,  and  your  name  is  great 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure:  what’s  the  matter, 
That  you  unlace  your  reputation  thus 
And  spend  your  rich  opinion  for  the  name 
Of  a night-brawler?  give  me  answer  to  it. 

15  Mon.  Worthy  Othello,  I am  hurt  to  danger: 

Your  officer,  lago,  can  inform  you  — 

While  I spare  speech,  which  something  now  offends 
Of  all  that  I do  know:  nor  know  I aught 
By  me  that’s  said  or  done  amiss  this  night; 

20  Unless  self-charity  be  sometimes  a vice, 

And  to  defend  ourselves  it  be  a sin 
When  violence  assails  us. 

Oth.  Now,  by  heaven, 

My  blood  begins  my  safer  guides  to  rule; 

25  And  passion,  having  my  best  judgement  collied, 
Assays  to  lead  the  way:  if  I once  stir, 

Or  do  but  lift  this  arm,  the  best  of  you 
Shall  sink  in  my  rebuke.  Give  me  to  know 
How  this  foul  rout  began,  who  set  it  on; 

30  And  he  that  is  approv’d  in  this  offence, 

Though  he  had  twinn’d  with  me,  both  at  a birth, 
Shall  lose  me.  — What ! in  a town  of  war, 

Yet  wild,  the  people’s  hearts  brimful  of  fear, 

To  manage  private  and  domestic  quarrel, 

35  In  night,  and  on  the  court  and  guard  of  safety! 
’Tis  monstrous.  — lago,  who  began’t? 

Mon.  If  partially  affin’d,  or  leagu’d  in  office, 

Thou  dost  deliver  more  or  less  than  truth, 

Thou  art  no  soldier. 

40  lago.  Touch  me  not  so  near: 

I had  rather  have  this  tongue  cut  from  my  mouth 
Than  it  should  do  offence  to  Michael  Cassio; 

Yet,  I persuade  myself,  to  speak  the  truth 


Metro. 


$>ct§  ©d)tuert  l)evau§,  unb  auf  eutanber  ftedjenb 
Qnt  blufgen  SBiberftreit.  Jgd)  faun  nid)t  fagem 
$Me  biefer  nmnbcrlid)e  $amf)f  begattn, 

Unb  ^att’  in  guter  0d)!ad)t  bie  SBeine  tieber 
5 $8erlorert,  bie  ba^u  Berber  mid)  trngen. 

Dtt).  3Bie,  (£affio,  fant’s  baft  bn  bid)*  fo  bergafeeft? 

£ftf*  Qd)  bit?  eud),  §err,  beneibt,  id)  famt  nid)t  rebett. 
£ SBitrb'ger  SMontan,  ibr  fdjient  mir  fouft  gefittet ; 
®ie  fftub’  unb  eble  £>a!tung  eurer  Qugenb 
10  $Prie3  aUe  2£e!t,  unb  euer  Sftame  prarigte 

3m  Sob  ber  SBeifeu:  fagt  ntir  benn,  mie  fant’3, 

^afj  ibr  fo  abgeftreift  ben  guten  fftuf, 

Unb  eure§  SettmunbS  Sfteid)tum  fiir  ben  tauten 
$e§  ndd)trgen  $Raufer§  l)imuerft?  ©ebt  mir  $!ntmort! 

15  9ft  out.  SSiirb’ger  Duetto,  id)  bin  fdjmer  bermunbet; 

(£mr’  gdbnbrid)  Qago  fann  end)  9Mbung  tfjun  — 

9ftir  fdttt  ba§  Rebett  fdjroer,  id)  fparf  e§  gern  — 

$on  allern,  tpa§  id)  meifj  - bod)  nmfjf  id)  nid)t, 
SBoriu  id)  mid)  in  2Bort  nod)  £b&t  berfitnbigt; 

20  28enn  0c!bfterbaltung  uicfjt  ein  grebe!  ift, 

Unb  nnfer  Seben  fd)ii^en  ein  $ergcb7n, 

$Bamt  un§  ©ernalt  bebroljte. 

£tb-  9hm,  beint  pummel! 

9ftein  $3lut  beginnt  $u  meiftent  bie  $ernitnft, 

25  Unb  Seibenfdjaft,  mein  belief  Urteil  triibenb, 

9ftaf}t  fid)  ber  giibrung  an.  9fegr  id)  mid)  erft, 

ISrbeb7  id)  nur  ben  2!rm,  bann  foil  ber  $efte 
%ox  meinent  0treid)e  fallen.  Xbut  mir  funb, 

58ie  lam  ber  fd)nbbe  ganf?  2Ber  brad)t7  ibn  auf? 

10  2Ber  immer  bier  berfdjutbet  bie§  $ergeb7n  — 

3Bdr7  er  ntir  b!ut§benuanbt,  mein  BtuiEingSbruber  — 
SSerliert  mid).  — . . . 2Sa§!  3n  ber  geftung  felbft  — 
$olf,  nod)  nngemift,  bon  ftngft  betdubt  — 
^ribatgeftdnf  unb  $dnbel  anjuftiften, 

>5  £>ei  ftad)t,  unb  auf  be§  0d)lof)e§  boc^fter  2Bad)e!  — 

^ ift  ungebeuer!  — 3ago,  rner  begattn? 
s3)iont.  $Bei*  bier  parteiifcl)  ober  biehftbefreunbet 
5Q2ebr  ober  minber  a!§  bie  SBabrbeit  ffmdjt, 

3ft  feiu  0olbat. 

0 3 a fl  o.  ®a,  (egt  ntir’3  nicbt  fo  ttabM  — 

3d)  biifete  ja  bie  gunge  lieber  ein, 

9113  baf3  fie  gegen  9ftid)ae!  (£affio  ^eugte; 

^)od)  glaub7  id)  feft,  bie  SSabrbeit  reben  bringt 

85 


OTHELLO. 


Shall  nothing  wrong  him.  — Thus  it  is,  general. 
Montano  and  myself  being  in  speech, 

There  comes  a fellow  crying  out  for  help; 

And  Cassio  following  him  with  determin’d  sword 
5 To  execute  upon  him.  — Sir,  this  gentleman 
Steps  in  to  Cassio,  and  entreats  his  pause: 

Myself  the  crying  fellow  did  pursue, 

Lest  by  his  clamour  — as  it  so  fell  out  — 

The  town  might  fall  in  fright:  he,  swift  of  foot, 

10  Outran  my  purpose;  and  I return’d  the  rather 
For  that  I heard  the  clink  and  fall  of  swords, 

And  Cassio  high  in  oath;  which  till  to-night 
I ne’er  might  say  before.  When  I came  back,  — 

For  this  was  brief,  — I found  them  close  together, 

15  At  blow  and  thrust;  even  as  again  they  were 
When  you  yourself  did  part  them. 

More  of  this  matter  cannot  I report  : — 

But  men  are  men;  the  best  sometimes  forget:  — 
Though  Cassio  did  some  little  wrong  to  him,  — 

20  As  men  in  rage  strike  those  that  wish  them  best,  — 
Yet,  surely,  Cassio,  I believe,  receiv’d 
From  him  that  tied  some  strange  indignity, 

Which  patience  could  not  pass. 

Oth.  I know,  Iago, 

25  Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter, 

Making  it  light  to  Cassio.  — Cassio,  1 love  thee; 

But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine. 

Re-enter  Desdemona,  attended. 

30  Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  raised  up!  — 

I’ll  make  thee  an  example. 

Des.  What’s  the  matter? 

Oth.  All’s  well  now,  sweeting;  come  away  to  bed.  — 

Sir,  for  your  hurts,  myself  will  be  your  surgeon : 

35  Lead  him  off.  [To  Montano,  who  is  led  off. 

Iago,  look  with  care  about  the  town, 

And  silence  those  whom  this  vile  brawl  distracted.— 
Come,  Desdemona:  ’tis  the  soldiers’  life 
To  have  their  balmy  slumbers  wak’d  with  strife. 

40  [Exeunt  all  except  Iago  and  Cassio. 

Iago.  What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant? 

Cas  Ay,  past  all  surgery. 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid! 


0& 


Dtfjetfo. 


3tjm  leinen  SRadjteit.  — ©o  g efd)at)%  mein  getbfterr: 

Qd)  unb  Montano  maren  int  ©efftrad), 

$a  lommt  eiu  9ttenfd),  ber  taut  um  ©iitfe  fdjreit; 

Unb  (£ajfio  folgt  i^nt  mit  ge^itdtem  ©djmert, 

5 3f)tt  §u  nermunben;  brauf  trat  biefer  §err 
Sajfto  entgegen,  bat  iftn,  ftiff  $u  fern; 

Unb  id)  bermeit  nerfotgte  jenen  ©djreier, 

$amit  feln  sJiuf  nid)t  (mie  e§  bod)  gefdjalj) 

$)ie  ©tabt  erfdjrede.  Qenerf  teid)t  ju  3utft, 

0 ©uttief  mir;  unb  id)  lefjrte  um  jo  fdjnetter, 

3Beit  id)  (Mtirr  unb  3Baffentarnt  nernaftm 
Unb  (Saffio'§  taute§  gtudjen,  ma§  bi§  tjeut 
3d)  uie  non  rt)in  geftort;  at§  id)  gurlxct  tarn  — 

Unb  bie§  mar  gteid)  — fanb  id)  fie  ftart  jufammen 
15  §ivtf  £>ieb  unb  ©toft:  gan$,  mie  ba§  gmeitemat, 

3t(3  iftr  fie  fel6er  trenntet. 

9M)r  non  bent  forfait  ift  mir  nid)t  befannt;  — 

$)od)  9£tfenfd)  ift  9D£enfd),  ber  33efte  fefttt  einntal; 

Unb  ob  it) irt  ©affio  gleid)  ^u  nat)  get^an  — 

?0  3Sie  man  in  3But  ben  beften  grennb  ja  fd)tdgt  — 

— $od)  benf  id),  marb  non  bent,  ber  ftotj,  an  (£affio 
©o  grofte  ^rantnng  mot)t  geitbt,  at§  !anm 

®ebutb  ertragen  ntag. 

Dtt).  3d)  meift,  3ago, 

lb  9(it3  Sieb’  unb  33ra0t)eit  fdfmiicfft  bn  biefe  ©ad)e  ' , 

Unb  mitber’ft  fie  fitr  (Safjto.  — (£affio,  id)  tiebe  bid); 

9tttein  mein  lieutenant  bift  bn  tcinger  nid)t.  — 

S)e§bemoita  tomrnt  mit  © e f o I g e. 

50  ©etjt!  marb  mein  tiebe§  38eib  nid)t  and)  gemedt!  — 

— $>u  fottft  ein  33eiff.net  fcin. 
e$b.  3Sa§  ging  fti er  nor,  ntein  Xeurer? 
ti  ift  atte§  gut  fdjott,  £iebd)eit!  — fomm’  $u  33ett! 

3d)  felbft  mitt  3Ir§t  feitt,  §err,  fitr  extre  38unben.  — 

3ut)rt  it)tt  nad)  £>au§.  [Montano  mivb  meggefitfjvt. 

$u,  3ago,  fiet)’  mit  ©orgfatt  auf  bie  ©tabt, 

Unb  fd)micf)trge,  men  ber  fdjttbbe  Sdrnt  gedngftet.  — 

®ontm,  3)e§bentona;  oft  int  $riegerteben 
38irb  fitter  ©d)taf  ber  ©tormtg  ftretegegeben. 

[2Ute  ab;  e§  bleibcn  S«go  unb  (Safi to. 
ago.  ©eib  itjr  nermunbet,  lieutenant? 
af.  D ja!  fo,  baft  fein  3(r^t  mir  ftitft ! — 
ago.  (£i,  ba§  oertjute  ber  ^iminet! 


OTHELLO. 


Cas.  Reputation,  reputation,  reputation  J 0,  I have  lost 
my  reputation!  I have  lost  the  immortal  part  of  myself 
and  what  remains  is  bestial.  — My  reputation,  Iago,  m\ 
reputation! 

o Iago.  As  I am  an  honest  man,  I thought  you  had  received 
some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more  sense  in  that  than  in 
reputation.  Reputation  is  an  idle  and  most  false  impo- 
sition ; oft  got  without  merit,  and  lost  without  deserving : 
you  have  lost  no  reputation  at  all,  unless  you  repute 
yourselt  such  a loser.  What,  man!  there  are  ways 
to  recover  the  general  again:  you  are  but  now  cast 
in  his  mood,  a punishment  more  in  policy  than  in 
malice;  even  so  as  one  would  beat  his  offenceless  dog 
to  affright  an  imperious  lion:  sue  to  him  again,  and 
10  he’s  yours. 

Cas.  I will  rather  sue  to  be  despised  than  to  deceive  so 
good  a commander  with  so  slight,  so  drunken,  and  so 
indiscreet  an  officer.  Drunk?  and  speak  parrot?  and 
20  squabble?  swagger?  swear?  and  discourse  fustian  with 
one’s  own  shadow?  — 0 thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine, 
if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee 
devil ! 

25  Iago.  What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your  sword? 
What  had  he  done  to  you? 

Cas.  I know  not. 

Iago . Is  ’t  possible? 

Cas.  I remember  a mass  of  things,  but  nothing  dis- 
30  tinctly;  a quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefore.  — 0 God, 

that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to 

steal  away  their  brains!  that  we  should,  with  joy,  plea- 
sance,  revel,  and  applause,  transform  ourselves  into 
beasts! 

35  Iago.  Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough : how  came  you 
thus  recovered? 

Cas.  It  hath  pleased  the  devil  drunkenness  to  give  place 
to  the  devil  wrath:  one  unperfectness  shows  me  another, 
to  make  me  frankly  despise  myself. 

4°  Iago.  Come,  you  are  too  severe  a moraler:  as  the  time, 

the  place,  and  the  condition  of  this  country  stands,  I 

could  heartily  wish  this  had  not  befallen ; but,  since  it 
is  as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your  own  good. 

37 


Dtfjelfo, 


(£af.  (fitter  9£ame ! ®uter  darnel  ©utfcr  Mantel  0,  id)  fjabe 
metnen  guten  tauten  toertoren!  ,3$  f)abe  ba§  uufterbtidje 
£eit  tm it  mir  felbft  Oerforen,  imb  ma§  iibrig  bteibt,  ift  tie- 
rifd).  — ^ceiit  guter  9kme,  3a9o,  mein  outer  darnel 
5 3 a go.  ©o  mat)r  id)  ein  etjrlidjer  9ftann  bin,  id)  bad)te,  bu 
tjtitteft  eine  fbrpertidje  2Bunbe  empfangen,  unb  ba§  bebeutet 
metjr,  at§  mil  bent  guten  tauten.  $)er  gute  $ftante  ift  eine 
nid)tige  unb  t)bd)ft  triigfidje  (Sinbitbung,  oft  otjne  $erbienft 
ertangt,  unb  otjne  ©d)ulb  oertoren.  3Du  ^aft  liberal!  gar 
10  teinen  guten  tauten  Oertoren,  menu  bu  nid)t  an  biefen  $8er= 
tuft  glaubft.  9Jhtt,  greunb ! e§  giebt  ja  Vittel,  ben  (General 
mieber  ju  geminnen:  bu  bift  je^t  nur  in  feiner  ^eftigfeit 
faffiert;  er  ftraft  metjr  au§  ®tugtjeit,  at§  au§  bbfer  Stbfidjt, 
juft  al§  menu  einer  feinen  ^armtofen  $unb  fdjtiige,  um 
15  einen  braueitben  Somen  $u  fd)recten;  gieb  it)m  mieber  ein 
gute§  9$ort,  unb  er  ift  bein. 

(£af.  Sieber  mitt  id)  ein  gute§  28ort  eintegen,  bafj  er  mid) 
ganj  Oerftofte,  at3  einen  fo  guten  3elbt)errn  nod)  longer 
bintergetjen  mit  einem  fo  Ieid)tfinnigen,  trunfenen  unb  unbe= 
20  fonnenen  Dffi^ier.  Strunten  fein?  uitb  mie  ein  $af)agei 
ptabbern?  nub  renommieren  unb  toben,  ftud)en  unb  33om= 
baft  fd)ma£en  mit  unfrem  eignen  ©d)atten?  o bu  unftd)t= 
barer  ©eift  be§  2$ein3,  menu  bu  nod)  teinen  tauten  baft, 
an  bem  man  bid)  tennt:  fo  f)et$e  Teufel! 

25  3 ago.  2Ber  mar%  ben  bu  mit  bem $>egen  Oerfolgteft ? 28a3 
batte  er  bir  aetfjan?  — 

(Saf.  3d)  toeig  nidjt. 

3a go.  3ft'3  mogtid)? 

(£aj.  3d)  befinne  mid)  aitf  einen  $aufen  S)inge,  aber  anf 
30  nid)t§  beuttid);  anf  einen  3ant  aber  nidjt  me^megen.  — 
0 baf*  mir  einen  bbfen  3etnb  in  ben  9ftunb  nebmen,  bamit 
er  unfer  ®ebirn  ftebte!  — 3)afj  mir  bnrd)  grobtoden, 
©cbmarmeu,  $ergniigen  unb  5tufreguug  un§  in  $ietj  oer= 
manbetn!  — 

35  3ago.  9hm,  aber  bu  fdjeinft  mir  jetd  red)t  mo^t;  mie  tjaft 
bu  bid)  fo  fdjneE  ert)olt?  — 

(Saf.  (S3  f)at  bem  Seufet  Xruntenbeit  gefalten,  bem  %en- 
fet  Qoxn  $(a£  bxi  tnadjen.  (Sine  ©d)mad)beit  entbiittt  mir 
bie  anbre,  bamit  id)  mid)  red)t  Oou  §er^ett  oerad)ten  mbge. 
40  3 ago.  (M)r,  bu  bift  ein  $u  ftrenger  s)3Zoratift.  2Bie  3eit, 
$trt  nub  bie  Untftdnbe  be3  £anbe3  befd)affen  finb,  miinfcble 
id)  Oon  fier^en,  bie3  mare  nid)t  gefdjeben;  ba  e3  aber  nun 
einmat  fo  ift,  fo  rid)te  e3  mieber  ein  $u  beinem  ^Beften. 

37 


OTHELLO. 


Cas'  I wil1  ask  hi™  for  my  place  again,  — he  shall  tell 
me  I am  a drunkard!  Had  I as  many  mouths  as  Hvdra 
such  an  answer  would  stop  them  all.  To  be  now  a 
sensible  man,  by  and  by  a fool,  and  presently  a beast’ 
5 O strange ! — Every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and 
the  ingredient  is  a devil. 

Ia£°- . ^°me>  come,  good  wine  is  a good  familiar  creature, 
it  it  be  well  used:  exclaim  no  more  against  it.  And 
10  good  lieutenant,  I think  you  think  I love  you. 

Cas.  I have  well  approved  it,  sir.  — I drunk ! 

Iago.  You  or  any  man  living  may  be  drunk  at  a time, 
man.  1 11  tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  Our  general’s 
la  wite  is  now  the  general;  — I may  say  so  in  this  respect, 

tor  that  he  hath  devoted  and  given  up  himself  to  the 

contemplation,  mark,  and  denotement  of  her  parts  and 
graces : confess  yourself  freely  to  her ; importune  her 

help  to  put  you  in  your  place  again:  she  is  of  so  free, 

20  so  land,  so  apt,  so  blessed  a disposition,  she  holds  it  a 

vice  in  her  goodness  not  to  do  more  than  she  is  reques- 
ted: this  broken  joint  between  you  and  her  husband 
entreat  her  to  splinter ; and,  my  fortunes  against  any  lay 
worth  naming,  this  crack  of  your  love  shall  grow  stronger 
25  than  it  was  before. 

Cas.  You  advise  me  well. 

Iag°.  I protest,  in  the  sincerity  of  love  and  honest  kind- 
ness. 

30  Cas.  I think  it  freely;  and  betimes  in  the  morning 
I will  beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  undertake 
for  me:  I am  desperate  of  my  fortunes  if  they  check 
me  here. 

Iag°.  You  are  in  the  right.  Good  night,  lieutenant;  I 
35  must  to  the  watch. 

Cas.  Good  night,  honest  Iago.  [Exit. 

Iago.  And  what’s  he,  then,  that  says  I play  the  villain  ? 
When  this  advice  is  free  I give  and  honest, 

Probal  to  thinking,  and,  indeed,  the  course 
40  To  win  the  Moor  again?  For  ’tis  most  easy 
The  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 
In  any  honest  suit : she’s  fram’d  as  fruitful 
As  the  free  elements.  And  then  for  her 


38 


Othello. 


(£af.  3$  toitf  mieber  itm  nteine  ©telte  bet  ibm  nad)fud)en; 
er  mirb  ntir  antmorten,  id)  fei  ein  Srunfenbotb ! bade  id) 
jo  diet  hauler  al§  bie  §t)bra,  fold)’  eine  2tntmort  iuitrbe 
fie  atle  ftopfen.  Qedt  etn  derniinftiges  SSejen  jein,  balb  ba= 
5 tauf  eirt  Sftarr,  unb  Vbjftid)  eiit  $iet),  — o furd)tbar!  — 
3ebe3  ©la§  $u  die!  ift  derflud)t,  unb  fein  ift  ein 

Teufel!  — 

Q a go.  ©el/,  gebr;  gnter  $3ein  ift  ein  gttte§  c^efeUige^  $)ing, 
menu  ntan  mit  ibm  um^ttgeben  meiff.  ©d)ettet  ntir  nici)t 
10  ntebr  auf  ibn  — nnb  tieber  Sieutnant,  id)  benfe,  bu  benfft, 
id)  tiebe  bid). 

(Saf.  Qd)  babe  SBemeife  badon,  greunb.  — 3<b  betrunfen!  — 

3a go  3Du  ober  jeber  anbere  (Erbenfobtt  fann  fid)  motjl  ein= 
mat  betrinfen,  grettnb.  3d)  milt  bir  fagen,  ma3  bu  $u 
15  ttjun  baft.  UnfreS  ©eneralS  gran  ift  jefft  General  — ba§ 
barf  id)  infofern  fagen,  at§  er  fid)  gattft  bent  ^(nfd)auen, 
ber  23emunberung  nnb  5tuffaffung  itjrer  Diei^e  unb  33oltfom= 
menbeiten  bitt$e$cben  unb  gemeitjt  t)at.  9iutt,  beidf)te  it)r 
ade§  fret  berait§;  beftitrnte  fie;  fie  mirb  bir  fd)on  mieber  $u 
20  beinent  s2lmt  derbetfen.  ©ie  ift  don  fo  offener,  giiticjer,  fitg= 
famer  unb  gnabettreid)er  ©efinnung,  baft  fie?§  fitr  eitten 
gleden  in  it)rer  ©iite  batten  miirbe,  nid)t  nod)  ntebr  $u  tt)un, 
at§  urn  ma§  fie  gebeten  mirb.  S)ie§  ^erbrodjene  ©lieb  jmifdjen 
bir  unb  ibrent  itfanne  bitte  fie  ju  fd)ienett;  unb,  ntein  $er= 
25  ntbgen  gegett  irgenb  etma§,  ba§  tauten  bat!  biefer  greunb= 
fd)aft§brud)  mirb  bie  Siebe  fefter  ntad)ett  al§  ^itdor. 

(£af.  ®u  rdtft  ntir  gut. 

3ago.  3d)  beteure  e§,  nxit  aufrid)tiger  Siebe  unb  rebtidjem 
Sot/molten. 

30  (£af.  3)a§  gtanbe  id)  ^udevficbtlid) ; ttnb  gteid)  ntorgen  fritb 
mitt  id)  bie  tngenbt)afte  3)esbentona  erfucbeit,  fid)  fur  mid) 
&u  dermenben.  3d)  derjmeifte  an  meineut  ©litcf,  mentis 
mid)  bier  pritdftofjt. 

i 3ago.  ©anj redjt.  ©ute  ^ad)t,  lieutenant!  id)  ntub  auf  bie 
35  2£ad)e. 

t£af.  ©ute  $cad)t,  ebrtid)er  3ago!  [@r  getjt  a&. 

3ago.  Unb  met*  ift  nun,  ber  fagt,  id)  fei  ein  ©djurfe? 

^ a biefer  9ftit  aufrid)tig  ift  nnb  rebtid), 

©ebriift  erfd)eint  unb  in  ber  £bat  ber  2Beg, 
to  ®en  Stftobren  um^uftimmen?  Pettit  febr  leid)t 
28irb  $>e§bentona’§  rnitbe^  |)er5  bemegt 
gift  eine  gute  ©ad)e;  fie  ift  fpenbenb 
$Lfte  ©egen  fetbft;  unb  ibr,  mie  teid)t  al^bamt 
at* 


OTHELLO. 


10 


15 


20 


To  win  the  Moor,  — were’t  to  renounce  his  baptism, 
All  seals  and  symbols  of  redeemed  sin 
His  soul  is  so  enfetter’d  to  her  love, 

That  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list, 

Hven  as  her  appetite  shall  play  the  god 

With  his  weak  function.  How  am  I,  then,  a villain 

JLo  counsel  Cassio  to  this  parallel  course, 

Directly  to  his  good  ? Divinity  of  hell ! 

When  devils  will  the  blackest  sins  put  on, 

They  do  suggest  at  first  with  heavenly  shows, 

As  I do  now : for  whiles  this  honest  fool 
Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  his  fortunes, 

And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 

I’ll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear,  — 

That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body’s  lust; 

And  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  good, 

She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 

So  will  I turn  her  virtue  into  pitch, 

And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. 


Re-enter  Koderigo. 

. How  now,  Koderigo! 

R°d.  1 do  follow  here  m the  chase,  not  like  a hound  that 
25  hunts,  but  one  that  fills  up  the  cry.  My  money  is  al- 
most spent;  I have  been  to-night  exceedingly  well  cud- 
gelled; and  I think  the  issue  will  be,  I shall  have  so 
much  experience  for  my  pains;  and  so,  with  no  money 
at  all,  and  a little  more  wit,  return  again  to  Venice. 

30  Iago.  How  poor  are  they  that  have  not  patience ! 

What  wound  did  ever  heal  but  by  degrees? 

Thou  know’st  we  work  by  wit,  and  not  by  witchcraft; 
And  wit  depends  on  dilatory  time. 

Does’t  not  go  well?  Cassio  hath  beaten  thee, 

35  And  thou,  by  that  small  hurt,  hast  cashier’d  Cassio: 
Though  other  things  grow  fair  against  the  sun, 

Yet  fruits  that  blossom  first  will  first  be  ripe: 

Content  thyself  awhile.  — By  the  mass,  ’tis  morning* 
Pleasure  and  action  make  the  hours  seem  short.  — ? 

40  Retire  thee;  go  where  thou  art  billeted: 

Away,  I say ; thou  shalt  know  more  hereafter : 

Nay,  get  thee  gone.  [Exit  Roderigo.]  Two  things  are  to 
be  done,  — 


39 


Dtfjetfo. 


3)cn  9Robren  5U  geminnen;  — galt%  ber  Xaufe 
itnb  ber  ©rlofung  ©iegel  5U  entfagen;  — 

©ein  §er^  ift  fo  Uerftrtdt  Don  i^rer  Siebe, 

$)aft  fie  if)tt  formt,  untformt,  d)ut,  ma§  fie  mitt, 

5 28ieT§  if)t*  getuften  mag,  ben  ($5ott  §u  fpielen 

9J2it  feiner  ©djmad)beit.  93in  id)  benn  ein  ©djurfe, 

92at’  id)  bent  (Saffio  fold)en  92id)tmeg  an 
Qn  feinem  ®litd?  — Xbeologte  ber  §olle!  — 

9$enit  Xeufel  drgfte  ©itnbe  fikbern  molten, 

10  ©0  loden  fie  perft  burd)  frontmen  ©d)ein, 

28ie  id)  anjetd.  Vermeil  ber  gute  Xropf 
3n  £)e§bemorta  bringt,  i^nt  bet^ufteb’n, 

Unb  fie  mit  9?ad)brud  feitt  ®efud)  begiinftigt, 

Xfditf’  id)  ben  ©ifttran!  in  £)tbedor§ 

15  $)afe  fie  5U  eigner  £uft  ^uritd  ibn  ruft; 

Unb  uni  fo  meljr  fie  ftrebt,  ibnt  mobiftutbttn, 

58entid)tet  fie  beitn  9J2obven  ba§  ^ertrait’n. 

©0  manbf  id)  t^re  Xugenb  felbft  ^utn  Safter 
Unb  ftrid'  ein  92et)  au£  i^rer  eignen  (Mte, 

20  3)a§  ade  foil  untgarnen. 

91 0 b r i g 0 fontmt. 

92 un,  92obrigo? 

92  ob.  Qd)  folge  ^ier  ber  sD2eute,  nid)t  mie  ein  $unb,  ber  jagt, 
25  fonbern  mie  einer,  ber  nur  mit  anfd)Uigt.  9J2ein  ©elb  ift 
faft  Dertban;  id)  bin  l)eut  9£ad)t  tiidjtig  burdjgepruqett ; nnb 
id)  bente,  ba§  (£nbe  mirb  fein,  baf)  id)  f itr  nteinesD2iU)e  bod) 
etmaS  (Srfabrmtg  geminne,  nnb  fo,  gait^  obne  (Mb  nnb 
mit  etma§  tnebr  9Serftanb,  nad)  ^ettebig  betmfebve. 

30  Q ago.  3Bie  arm  finb  bie,  bie  nid)t  (9ebulb  befi^ett ! — 

$8ie  Ijeilten  9Sitnbeit,  at§  nur  nad)  unb  nad)? 

$u  meifjt,  man  mirft  burd)  5Bitt  unb  nid)t  burd)  ^auber; 
Unb  28i£  bentl)t  auf  ©tunbr  nnb  gituffger  $cit. 

®ebt’3  benn  nid)t  gut?  (£affio  b<*t  bid)  gefd)(agen, 

35  Unb  bn,  mit  mertig  ©djmer^,  faffierft  ben  (£affio: 

©ebei^t  and)  fd)led)te$  Untraut  oljue  ©outte, 

$on  3'ritd)ten  reift  ftuerft,  bie  erft  geblitbt  — 

93erub?ge  bid).  — 95eim  .^reu^l  3)er  9J2orgen  grant, 
^ergniigen  unb  ©efd)dft  Derlitr^t  bie  Qeit.  — 

40  Sntferne  bid);  geb'  je(5t  in  bein  Quartier:  — 

$ort,  fag?  id),  bu  erfd^rft  im  tur^ent  ntebr.  — 

92ein,  geb’  bod)  nur!  [9to brig 0 a&, 

3mei  2)inge  finb  ju  tl)nu: 

93 


OTHELLO. 


My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress; 
111  set  her  on:  ’ 


Myself  the  while  to  draw  the  Moor  apart 
And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife:  — ay,  that’s  the  way; 

Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay.  [Ext 


10 


act  hi. 


Scene  I.  Cyprus.  Before  the  castle. 

Enter  Cassio  and  some  Musicians. 

15  Cos.  Masters,  play  here,  — I will  content  your  pains, 


Something  that’s  brief;  and  bid  “Good  morrow,  general 
Enter  Clown.  [Music 

on  C/<1\  A!?y’  mast?rs>  h,ave  y°U1'  instruments  been  in  Naples 
20  that  they  speak  l’  the  nose  thus? 

First  Mus.  How,  sir,  how! 

Clo.  Are  these,  I pray  you,  wind-instruments? 

First  Mus.  Ay,  marry,  are  they,  sir. 

Clo.  0,  thereby  hangs  a tail. 

2d  First  Mus.  Whereby  hangs  a tale,  sir? 

Clo  Marry,  sir,  by  many  a wind-instrument  that  I know’ 
but,  masters,  here’s  money  for  you : and  the  general  so 
likes  your  music,  that  he  desires  you,  for  love’s  sake,  to 
make  no  more  noise  with  it. 

30  First  Mus.  Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 

Clo.  If  you  have  any  music  that  may  not  be  heard,  to’t, 
agam:  but,  as  they  say,  to  hear  music  the  general  does* 
. not  greatly  care. 

First  Mus.  We  have  none  such,  sir.  \ 

35  Clo.  Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  I’ll  away: 
go;  vanish  into  air;  away!  \Exeunt  Musicians. 

Cas.  Host  thou  hear,  my  honest  friend? 

Clo.  No,  I hear  not  your  honest  friend;  I hear  you. 

Cos.  Pr’ythee,  keep  up  thy  quillets.  There’s  a poor  piece 
ot  gold  tor  thee:  if  the  gentlewoman  that  attends  the 
general’s  wife  be  stirring,  tell  her  there’s  one  Cassio 
entreats  her  a little  favour  of  speech : wilt  thou  do 
this? 

40 


40 


Otfjelfo. 


^Jcein  28eib  tnufj  t^re  gr an  fiir  daffio  bitten, 

3d)  fiimnte  fie  ba^u; 

3nbe§  nebm’  id)  ben  $iobren  aitf  bie  ©eite 
Itnb  fitbr’  iljn  juft  tjinein,  menu  (£affio  brtngettb 
5 ©ein  2Beib  erfudjt.  9iun  tjelfe  ntir  ber  Xrug! 

60  ntufc  e$  gebrn:  fort,  Saubeit  unb  $er^ug!  m gei)t  ab. 


10  SDritter  Slufjug. 

Sjntf.  (£t)f>ern.  ^8or  bent  ©djloffe. 

Kaffio  tritt  auf  mit  fi  f an  ten. 

;15  (£af.  3brl>errn,  fpielt  auf!  idj  %al)V  end)  eure  Wixh: 

(£in  fur^e§  ©tiid,  al§  SEiorgengrufi  bent  gelbbernt. 

9ftufif.  S)er  Sift art  tritt  auf. 

Tcarr.  Sttuu,  if)r  £erren?  ©tub  eure  $feifen  in  9?eabel  qe= 
20  mefen,  baft  fie  fo  burd)  bie  9<afe  fdjnurren?  2tber  bier 
ift  (Mb  fiir  eud),  ib?  |>erren,  unb  bent  General  gefattt  eure 
$cuftf  fo  au§nel)ntenb,  baft  er  end)  urn  aKe§  in  ber  SBett 
bitten  lapt,  feinen  Sarin  ntebr  bamit  $u  madden. 

^ u f.  r§  {ft  gut,  |>err,  ba§  looflen  loir  aud)  nid)t. 

25  9?arr.  38enn  i^r  eineSWufi!  babt,  bie  gar  nid)t  $u  boren  ift, 
tn  ®ofte§  tauten;  aber  ma§  man  fagt,  Sttufif  boren: 
banad)  fragt  ber  (General  nid)t  luel. 

SKuf.  @o!d)e  boben  mir  nid)t,  §err. 
s)tarr.  $)ann  fterft  eure^feifen  mieber  in  ben  ©ad,  benn  icb 
30  mill  fort,  ©ebt!  — berfdjminbet  in  bie  Siifte!  bufd)! 

[2)ie  Sftufifanten  geifjett  a&. 


35 


to 


Gaf.  §brft  bu,  mein  ebrtidje?  ©emiit?  — 

^ af  r-  cvfeH' ,e“!i  eW|^eS  ®einiit  W W)  nidjt;  icb  bore  eud) 
® • , J#Jl4t  b,ct>-  Ia&  b«nea3i#e.  $ier  baft  bu  ein  Heine? 
©olbftucfdjen;  menn  bie  ©efeHfcbaftSbame  beiner  ©ebieterin 
|d)on  rnunter  ift,  facj’  il)r,  bier  fei  ein  gemiffer  (Saffio,  bei 
g*.  “OT.  bt,e  SSergunftigung  cineS  furjen  ©efotiid)?  bitte. 
Uotuft  bu  ba§  tbun?  — 


4Q 


OTHELLO. 


Clo.  She  is  stirring,  sir:  if  she  will  stir  hither,  I shal 
seem  to  notify  unto  her. 

Cas.  Do,  good  my  friend.  [Exit  Clown. 

Enter  Iago. 

O 

In  happy  time,  Iago. 

Iago.  You  have  not  been  a-bed,  then? 

Cas.  Why,  no;  the  day  had  broke 
Before  we  parted.  I have  made  bold,  Iago, 

10  To  send  in  to  your  wife:  my  suit  to  her 
Is,  that  she  will  to  virtuous  Desdemona 
Procure  me  some  access. 

Iago.  I’ll  send  her  to  you  presently; 

And  I’ll  devise  a mean  to  draw  the  Moor 
15  Out  of  the  way,  that  your  converse  and  business 
May  be  more  free. 

Cds.  I humbly  thank  you  for’t.  [Exit  Iago.]  I never  knew 
A Florentine  more  kind  and  honest. 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emil.  Good  morrow,  good  lieutenant:  I am  sorry 
For  your  displeasure;  but  all  will  sure  be  well. 

The  general  and  his  wife  are  talking  of  it; 

And  she  speaks  for  you  stoutly:  the  Moor  replies, 

25  That  he  you  hurt  is  of  great  fame  in  Cyprus 

And  great  affinity,  and  that  in  wholesome  wisdom 
He  might  not  hut  refuse  you ; hut  he  protests  he  loves  you, 
And  needs  no  other  suitor  hut  his  likings 
To  take  the  saf’st  occasion  by  the  front 
30  To  bring  you  in  again. 

Cas.  Yet,  I beseech  you, — 

If  you  think  fit,  or  that  it  may  be  done,  — 

Give  me  advantage  of  some  brief  discourse 
With  Desdemona  alone. 

35  Emil.  Pray  you,  come  in: 

I will  bestow  you  where  you  shall  have  time 
To  speak  your  bosom  freely. 

Cas.  I am  much  bound  to  you.  [Exeunt. 


©tfjeflo. 


9? art.  hunter  ift  fie,  §err;  menxx  fie  fid)  ftierfter  erxnuntern 
mid,  fo  merb’  id)’§  il)r  hifinitieren. 

9£arr  at.  tritt  auf. 

5 ©a).  ‘Sanf,  lieber  greuxtb!  — (Si,  3ago,  grabe  red)t!  — 

3 a go.  0o  gixxgt  itjr  nid)t  £U  $3ett? 

(Saf.  Qd)?  9£ein;  ber  Morgen  graute, 

(St)'  mir  uxx§  trennten.  (Sbext  febt,  xiteixt  3afl0/ 

10  8d)idtr  id)  beiner  gran,  xtnb  lief]  fie  bitten, 

0te  mode  bet  ber  ebten  3)e§benxona 
9)Hr  Qutritt  fdfaffen. 

3a go.  3d)  mid  gleidj  fie  ntfen; 

Hub  auf  eixt  Vittel  finn'  id),  mie  ber  9ttoftr 
15  (Sntfernt  mirb,  baft  iftr  itm  fo  freter  eud) 

33efbred)en  xnbgt. 

(Saf.  SSon  §er§en  banf  icb  bir'§.  — 3dj  fannte  nie 
rxten  gtorentiner,  ber  fo  bran  nnb  freunblid). 


(Sin it.  Ghxten  Morgen,  merter  lieutenant,  (Suer  Uxtfad 
S3etrubt  nticb  feftr,'  bod)  mirb  nod)  ade§  gnt. 

3)er  (General  xtnb  feine  3rau  befaredjen^, 

Hub  marnt  oertritt  fie  end);  er  menbet  ein, 

25  £)er  junge  9)caitn  fei  l)od)ge[d)cibt  in  (S\)ftern, 

$$on  grofteni  9lxtt)axxg,  xtnb  nacf)  beftenx  9xat 
$onnT  er  end)  nid)t  berteib?gen.  £)od)  er  tiebt  end), 
Unb  leineS  3iirmort’§  brauajt’S  at§  feine  greunbfdjafb 
(Sud)  mieber  einjufeften. 

30 

(Saf.  3)ennod)  bitf  id)  — 

28eun  iftr’§  fur  ratfanx  pallet  ober  ttjuutid)  — 

0d)afft  xnir  bie  £3ol)ltt)at  einer  llnterrebung. 


35  (Snxil.  $ontxnt  nxit  xnir 

3d)  ricf)tr  e§  ein,  baft  iftr  in  gitnffger  9)htfte 
(Sud)  fret  erftdren  nxogt. 

(Saj.  2Bie  ban!’  id)  eud)!  [@ie  geXjeu  at 


40 


41 


G 


OTHELLO. 


Scene  II.  A Room  in  the  Castle . 

Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Gentlemen. 

5 Oth.  These  letters  give,  Iago,  to  the  pilot; 

And  by  him  do  my  duties  to  the  senate: 

That  done,  I will  be  walking  on  the  works; 

Repair  there  to  me. 

Iago.  Well,  my  good  lord,  Til  do’t. 

10  Oth . This  fortification,  gentiemen, — shall  we  see’t? 

Gent.  We’ll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  III.  The  Garden  of  the  Castle. 

15 

Enter  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Emilia. 

Des.  Be  thou  assur'd,  good  Cassio,  I will  do 
All  my  abilities  in  thy  behalf. 

Emil.  Good  madam,  do:  I warrant  it  grieves  my  husband, 
20  As  if  the  case  were  his. 

Des.  0,  that’s  an  honest  fellow.  Do  not  doubt,  Cassio, 
But  I will  have  my  lord  and  you  again 
As  friendly  as  you  were. 

Cas.  Bounteous  madam, 

25  Whatever  shall  become  of  Michael  Cassio, 

He’s  never  any  thing  but  youi'  true  servant. 

Des.  I know’t;  1 thank  you.  You  do  love  my  lord: 
You’ve  known  him  long ; and  be  you  well  assur’d 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  further  off 
30  Than  in  a politic  distance. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  lady, 

That  policy  may  either  last  so  long, 

Or  feed  upon  such  nice  and  waterish  diet, 

Or  breed  itself  so  out  of  circumstance, 

35  That,  I being  absent,  and  my  place  supplied, 

My  general  will  forget  my  love  and  service. 

Des.  Do  not  doubt  that;  before  Emilia  here 
I give  thee  warrant  of  thy  place;  assure  thee, 

If  I do  vow  a friendship,  I’ll  perform  it 
40  To  the  last  article:  my  lord  shall  never  rest; 

I’ll  watch  him  tame,  and  talk  him  out  of  patience; 

His  bed  shall  seem  a school,  his  board  a shrift; 

I’ll  intermingle  every  thing  he  does 
42 


Dtfietfo. 


3meitc  Bjenr.  ©benbafel b ft. 

©tfjello,  unb  (£  b e tl  e u t e treten  auf. 


5 £)tfj.  $)ie  SBriefe,  Qago,  gieb7  bem  ©djiffSpatron, 

Unb  ineineit  ©ntf)  entbiet7  er  bem  ©enat; 

3d)  mill  Ijernad)  bte  ^lufienmerle  felj’n, 

$>ort  triffft  $u  mid). 

3 ago.  ©eljr  moljl,  mein  ©eneraf. 

10  £tlj.  $8eliebt%  tljr  £>errn,  jur  geftung  mir  %u  folgen? 
©bel.  2Bir  fiub  bereit,  mein  gnab'ger  "$err.  [@ie  gefjenab. 


Driltc  Sprite.  ©benbafetbft. 

15 

2)e§bemoua,  (Saffto  unb  (Smitia  tvetcn  auf. 

3)e§b.  9£ein,  ^meifle  nid)t,  mein  guter  (Baffin,  af(e$, 

3Sa§  mir  nur  ntoglidj,  biet7  id)  fitr  bid)  auf. 

©mil.  Xt)ut%  eble  3rau;  id)  meifj,  mein  sDianu  betvitbt  fid), 
20  s>ll§  mar’  e§  feiue  ©ad)e. 

$>e§b.  ©r  ift  ein  ef)rlid)  |>er$.  ©ei  ruljig,  ©affio, 

3d)  ntadje  nteinen  §errn  imb  bid)  auf$  neue 
3u  grettnben,  mie  il)r  mar’t. 

©af.  £ gitt’ge  Svan, 

25  $8a§  aud)  ait§  ^ftidjael  ©affio  merben  mag, 

2Xuf  intmer  bleibt  er  eitrem  £)ienft  ergeberi. 

® e § b.  3d)  banf  end),  ©affio.  — 3^i'  liefc’t  ja  meineu  Jperrn, 
3t)r  leant  it) it  tange  fd)on;  brum  feib  gemifo, 

©r  menbet  fid)  nid)t  ferner  bon  end)  ab, 

30  9ll§  itjn  bie  $lugl)eit 


£)ie  Mug^eit  md^rt  bielleidjt  fo  lattge  Qeit, 

£ebt  bon  fo  mag’rer,  maffergleid)er  ^oftf 
©rneut  bie(teid)t  fid)  au§  bem  .gufatl  fo, 

35  $)af),  menu  id)  fern  bin  unb  mein  2lntt  befell, 

$)er  ^elbljerr  rneine  £ieb’  unb  £reuT  bergifet. 
$>e§b.  $)a§  fiird)te  nimmer;  bor  ©milieu  l)ier 
$8erburg’  id)  bir  bein  9lmt;  unb  fei  gemife, 
^erfbrad)  id)  jentanb  einen  ^ienft,  ben  leiff  id) 

40  $i§  auf  ben  lenten  s$unft:  id)  laff’  i£)m  feine  sJhtf 

3d)' mad)’  ifjn  ^afjm,  fd)mdb’  it)n  au§  ber  ©ebulb; 
©ein  £ifd)  unb  33ett  foil  Seidjt’  unb  ©d)ule  jein; 
3n  alle§,  ma3  er  bornhnntt,  meng’  id)  il)m 


©af, 


6* 


OTHELLO. 


With  Cassio’s  suit:  therefore  be  merry,  Cassio; 

For  thy  solicitor  shall  rather  die 
Than  give  thy  cause  away. 

c Enter  Othello  and  Iago. 

5 

Emil.  Madam,  here  comes  my  lord. 

Cas.  Madam,  I’ll  take  my  leave. 

Des.  Why,  stay,  and  hear  me  speak. 

10  Cas.  Madam,  not  now:  I’m  very  ill  at  ease, 

Unm  for  mine  own  purposes. 

[ Exit  Cassio. 

Des.  Well,  do  your  discretion. 

15  Iago.  Ha!  I like  not  that. 

Oth.  What  dost  thou  say  ? 

Iago.  Nothing,  my  lord : or  if—  I know  not  what. 

Oth.  Was  not  that  Cassio  parted  from  my  wife? 

20  Iago.  Cassio,  my  lord!  No,  sure,  I cannot  think  it, 

That  he  would  steal  away  so  guilty-like, 

Seeing  you  coming. 

Oth.  I do  believe  ’twas  he. 

Des.  How  now,  my  lord! 

25  I have  been  talking  with  a suitor  here, 

A man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 

Oth.  Who  is’t  you  mean? 

Des.  Why,  your  lieutenant,  Cassio.  Good  my  lord, 

If  I have  any  grace  or  power  to  move  you, 

30  His  present  reconciliation  take; 

For  if  he  be  not  one  that  truly  loves  you, 

That  errs  in  ignorance  and  not  in  cunning, 

I have  no  judgment  in  an  honest  face: 

I pr’ythee,  call  him  back. 

35  Oth.  Went  he  hence  now? 

Des.  Ay,  sooth;  so  humbled 
That  he  hath  left  part  of  his  grief  with  me, 

To  suffer  with  him.  Good  love,  call  him  back. 

Oth.  Not  now,  sweet  Desdemona;  some  other  time. 

40  Des.  But  shall  ’t  be  shortly? 

Oth.  The  sooner,  sweet,  for  you. 

Des.  Shall’t  be  to-night  at  supper? 

Oth.  No,  not  to-night. 


43 


Otfjello. 


©affio*3  ©efud):  be$balb  fei  fropcf),  ©affio! 

$enn  betne  Mittlerin  ttrirb  lieber  fterben 
9113  bid^  oerfdunten. 

Othello  unb  Sqqo  tretcrt  in  einiger  (Entfernung  auf. 

©mil  ©nab’ge  grau,  tykx  !omntt 

&er  ©enerat. 

©af.  3d)  nebnte  meinen  9lbfd)ieb. 

2) e3b.  ©i,  bleibt  unb  l)brt  mid)  rebcn! 

10  ©af.  ©nab'ge  grau, 

3e£t  nidfjt ; idj  bin  ntd£)t  unbefangett,  menig 
©efdjidt  fur  meine  9lbfid)t. 

$e3b.  Meinetbalb; 

X^ut  itcid)  93elieben.  [(Saffio  gcfjt 

15  3 ago.  §a!  — ba3  gefadt  mir  nid)t! 

£>tl).  28a3  fagft  bit  ba? 

3 ago.  9tfid)t3,  gnab’ger  $err;  bod)  menu, id)  toeift 

nid)t,  toa3. 

£)tb-  2Bar  ba3  nicf)t  ©affio,  ber  ntein  2Beib  Derlieft? 

20  3a  go.  ©affio,  ©en’ral?  ©emifi,  id)  bad)f  e3  uidjt, 

2)aj3  er  ivie  fd)ulbbetmifjt  u>egfd)leid)en  miivbe, 

£)a  er  eud)  fommeit  fiel)t. 

Dtb-  3d)  glaubr,  er  marr3. 

3) e3b.  (Si  fieb,  ntein  lieber  £err!  — 

25  ©o  ebett  fprad)  ein  93ittenber  niit  mir, 

©in  Mann,  burd)  bein  Mifjfallen  gan^  entmutigt. 

£)tb-  2Ber  ift  e3,  ben  bu  meinft? 

$)e§b.  9htn,  beinen  lieutenant  ©affio.  ^eurer  greunb, 

$at  meine  Siebe  $raft,  bid)  ju  betoegen, 

30  4ann  augenblid3  Oerfofjne  bid)  mit  iljm  — 

3ft  er  nid)t  eitter,  ber  bid)  mabrbaft  liebt, 

9(u3  Uebereilung  feblt’  unb  nid)t  au3  ^orjaft, 

^erfteb’  id)  fd)lecf)t  ntid)  auf  ein  ebjrlict)  9luge;  — 

SSitt’  bid),  rufr  il)n  juriid. 

35  £Dtb-  ©inq  er  je|t  fort? 

3)e3b.  3a,  mabrlidj,  fo  gefceugt, 

2)af;  er  ein  Xeil  toon  feinern  ©ram  mir  lief), 

Mit  i^m  §u  leiben.  fiiebfter,  ruf  ibn  mieber. 

£)tb-  3^t  nid)t,  geliebte3  §erj,  ein  anberma  . 

40  &e3b.  ®otf)  balb? 

£>tl).  balb  a(3  moglid),  beinctfjalb. 

3)e3b.  Sum  9lbenbeffen  benn? 

Dtf)-  9tan,  beute  nid)t. 

43 


OTHELLO. 


Des.  To-morrow  dinner,  then? 

Oth.  I shall  not  dine  at  home ; 

I meet  the  captains  at  the  citadel. 

Des.  Why,  then,  to-morrow  night;  or  Tuesday  morn; 

5 On  Tuesday  noon,  or  night;  on  Wednesdey  morn:— 

I pr’ythee,  name  the  time;  but  let  it  not 
Exceed  three  days:  in  faith,  he’s  penitent; 

And  yet  his  trespass,  in  our  common  reason,— 

Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars  must  make  examples 
10  Out  of  their  best,— is  not  almost  a fault 

To  incur  a private  check.  When  shall  he  come? 

Tell  me,  Othello:  I wonder  in  my  soul, 

What  you  would  ask  me,  that  I should  deny, 

Or  stand  so  mammering  on.  What!  Michael  Cassio, 
lb  That  came  a-wooing  with  you,  and  so  many  a time, 
When  I have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 

Hath  ta’en  your  part;  to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  bring  him  in!  Trust  me,  I could  do  much,— 

Oth.  Pr’ythee,  no  more:  let  him  come  when  he  will; 

20  I will  deny  thee  nothing. 

Des.  Why,  this  is  not  a boon; 

’Tis  as  I should  entreat  you  wear  your  gloves, 

Or  feed  on  nourishing  dishes,  or  keep  you  warm, 

Or  sue  to  you  to  do  peculiar  profit 
25  To  your  own  person:  nay,  when  I have  a suit 
Wherein  I mean  to  touch  your  love  indeed, 

It  shall  he  full  of  poise  and  difficult  weight, 

And  learful  to  be  granted. 

Oth.  I will  deny  thee  nothing: 

30  Whereor,  I do  beseech  thee,  grant  me  this, 

To  leave  me  but  a little  to  myself. 

Des.  Shall  1 deny  you?  no:  farewell,  my  lord. 

Oth.  Farewell,  my  Desdemona:  I’ll  come  to  thee  straight. 
Des.  Emilia,  come. 

35  Whate’er  you  he,  I am  obedient. 

Be  as  your  fancies  teach  you; 

[Exit  with  Emilia. 

Oth.  Excellent  wretch!  Perdition  catch  my  soul, 

But  I do  love  thee!  and  when  I love  thee  not, 

40  Chaos  is  come  again. 

Iago.  My  noble  lord, — 

Oth . What  dost  thon  say,  Iago? 

Iago.  Hid  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo’d  my  lady, 

44 


Dtfjello. 


&e§b.  £)amt  morgen  mittag? 

Dtf).  ' 3d)  fpeife  nid)t  ^u  §au§ ; 

$)ie  Offi^iere  luben  mid)  jur  Jeftung. 

3)e§b.  &UU  morgen  abenb?  ober  bienftag  morgen, 

5 Ru  ntittag  ober  abenb  — mittmod)  frith?  — 

£>  nemte  ntir  bie  $eit,  bod)  lab  e§  bbd)ften§ 

L3)rei  Xage  fein.  ®emib,  e§  reut  if)tt  fei) r; 

Unb  fein  $ergeb'n,  nad)  unf’rer  jd)lid)ten  (£infid)t  — 
5Biemobl  ber  $rieg  ein  s43eifpiel  forbert,  fagt  man, 

10  9lm  beften  felbft  — ift  nur  ein  gebb  geeignet 

fjiir  f)eintlid)en  SBertuetS.  — 2Bann  barf  er  fomnten  ? 

©pricl)  bod),  Dtbetto:  id)  begreife  nid)t, 

2Ba$  id)  bir  meigerte,  ba§  bu  oerlangteft, 

Ober  fo  ^anbernb  jcbmieg.  (£i,  9JUd)ael  ©affio, 

15  3)er  fur  bid)  marb  unb  mand)e§  liebe  sU£al, 

3Benn  id)  non  bir  nid)t  intmer  gitnftig  fprad), 

2)id)  treu  t»erfod)t  — ben  foftet’3  fo  oiel  iit)r 

$)ir  oerfbl)nen?  Xraun,  id)  tbate  Diel 

Otb.  3d)  bitf  bid),  lab  — er  fontnte,  mann  er  mitt; 

20  3d)  mitt  bir  nid)t§  Oerfagen. 

$)e3b.  (£3  ift  ja  nid)t  fitr  inid): 

(£3  ift,  aU  bat'  id)  bidi),  £mubfdbubr  ^utragen, 

$>id)  marm  $u  baiten,  fraft’ge  $oft  nebnten, 

Ober  al3  rief  id)  bir  befonb’re  ©orgfalt 
25  giir  beine  ^fleae  — nein,  bdb’  icb  $u  bitten, 

2Ba§  beine  Siebe  redft  in  ^njprud)  nimnit, 

$)ann  niub  e§>  fdjmierig  fein  unb  Doll  (55emicl)t 
Unb  ntiblid)  bie  ©emabrung. 

Otb.  3d)  mitt  bir  nid)t§  Derfageit; 

30  SDagegen  bitt’  id)  bid),  gemdbr7  ntir  bie§  — 

Sab  inid)  ein  menig  nur  mit  ntir  attein. 

$)e§b.  ©ott  id)r§  Oerfagen?  ^eiu,  lebr  mobb  mein  (Sfatte. 
Otb.  Sebr  mobb  mein  iper^!  id)  folge  gleid)  bir  nad). 

$)e§b.  Gsmilia,  fomm!  [$u  DiJjetio. 

35  %fya\  mie  bid)  Sautte  treibt; 

28a§  e§  audb  fei,  geborfam’  bin  icb  bir. 

[®d)t  ab  mit  ©milieu. 

Otb.  £>olbfelig  ®ing ! $erbantni§  nteiner  ©eele, 

Siebr  id)  bid)  nid)t!  unb  menu  id)  bid)  nid)t  liebe, 

40  3)ann  febrt  ba§  (£t)ao§  nieber. 

3ctgo.  9ftein  ebler  (General  — 

Otb.  28a§  fagft  bu,  3^go? 

3ago.  §at  (£affio,  al3  il)i*  marbt  tun  cure  ©attin, 

44 


OTHELLO. 


10 


Know  of  your  love? 

Oth.  He  did,  from  first  to  last:  whv  dost  thnn 

x (rbSv»,sas'*,!,io"  °f 

C:  no«,h,K;aV.^»S  wilh  her 

Iago.  Indeed ! and  W6nt  between  us  very 
°t  hentfLaUyest?deed:  diSCem’St  thou ^ght inthut? 

Iago. 


Oth. 
Iago. 
Oth. 
15  Iago. 
Oth. 


ay,  honest. 


20 


25 


30 


Honest,  my  lord ! 

My  lord,  for  aught  I know.  Houcst! 

What  dost  thou  think? 

Think,  my  lord! 

By  heaven,  he  echoes  me,  Think,  my  lord! 

tL' km61'6  'Ier?  so!lle  monster  in  his  thought 
/ heard  thee  t„°avbep  shown- ~ Thou  dost  mean  something : 
wi  n - , ?•  even  now>  tl,ou  lik’dst  not  that  8 

When  Cassio  left  my  wife:  what  didst  not  like’’ 

And  when  I told  thee  he  was  of  mv  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst  “Indeed  ?» 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together 
As  it  thou  then  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain  ’ 

Some  horrible  conceit:  if  thou  dost  love  me 
Show  me  thy  thought.  me> 

Iago.  My  lord,  you  know  I love  you. 

A„!,  for  I k„„»  th.rt  „f  JeSVot” 

st  thy  words  before  t.hnn  mu’ot  — 1 


35 


F.r  s szi7:  SuTZi^iz:be 

Are  tricks  of  custom;  but  in  a man  that’s  just 
They  re  close  denotements,  working  from  the  heart 
lhat  passion  cannot  rule. 

/a€°\  . For  Michael  Cassio, 

I dare  be  sworn  I think  that  he  ’s  honest. 


40 


Oth. 
Iaqo. 
0 
Oth. 
I ago. 


I think  so  too. 

. ..  _ Men  should  be  what  they  seem  • 

be  rAT°fUld  they  mi£ht  seem  none! 
111611  skoukl  b?  what  they  seem. 

Why,  then,  I think  Cassio’s  an  honest  man. 

45 


Otfjetfo. 


®eRntj3t  unt  eure  Siebe? 

Dtfj.  SSon  Wnfang  bi£  p (£nbe:  marurn  fragft  bu? 

3 ago.  Unt  nid)t§,  al§  nteine  9?ettgier  p befrieb’gen; 
$id)t§  2lrge§  fonft. 

5 Dt^.  * SSarutn  bie  Sfteugier,  Sago? 

Sago.  Sd  glaubte  nid)t,  er  l)abe  fie  gefannt. 

Dtb-  O ia,  er  gtng  bon  (Sinent  oft  pm  5fnbern. 

Sago.  SBivflidj ! 

£>tl).  28irflid)!  ja,  mirflid)!  — ginb’ft  bu  ma§  barin? 

10  Sfi  er  tiid)t  ef)rlid)? 

Sago.  (S^rltd),  gndb’ger  §err? 

Oti  ©fjrlid),  ja  eljrlid) ! 

Sago.  ©o  Otel  id)  meifj,  ©en’ral! 

£)tfj.  benfft  bu,  Sago? 

15  Sago.  $)enfen,  gndb’ger  £>err? 

£>t|.  £mt,  benfen,  gndb’ger  £>err! 

®ei  dott,  mein  (M)o! 

2113  lag’  cin  Ungeljeu’r  in  feinem  ©inn, 
gu  grdfjlidj,  e3  p jeigeit.  — (£tma3  nteinft  bu! 

20  3e|d  eben  riefft  bu:  ba3  gefallt  inir  nid)t! 

?(t$  (£ajfio  fortging.  28  a 3 gefallt  bir  nid)t ? — 

Unb  al3  id)  fagY,  tljm  f)ab’  id)  mid)  bertraut 

Snt  gortgang  meiner  SBerbung,  riefft  bu:  mir!l id)? 

Unb  ^ogft  nub  falteteft  bie  ©tint  pfamnten, 

25  2U3  bielt’ft  bu  einen  grettlidjen  ©ebanfeit 

$erfd)loffeit  im  ©efjint  — 28enn  bu  mid)  liebft, 

©brief),  ma3  bu  benfft. 

Sago.  Sbr  mifjt,  id)  lieb’  eud),  £>err! 

Dtb.  3)a3,  benf’  id),  tljuft  bu 

30  Unb  rceil  id)  meif$,  bu  bift  mein  S'^eunb  unb  rebliefj, 
Unb  magft  ba3  2Bort,  elj  bu  iljm  2Uem  feif)ft, 

©o  dngftet  mid)  bie3  ©toefeu  nut  fo  mefjr  — 

2)enn  berlei  ift  bei  faffd)  treulofeu  23uben 
2UftagIicf)  <©biel;  bod)  bei  bem  23iebermann 
35  $eimfid)er  2Binf,  ber  au3  bem  ^er^eu  bringt, 

Snt  gorn  be3  (£belmut3. 

Sago.  9hm,  9Jtid)ael  (£affio  — 

Sd)  barf  mo^l  }d)mdren,  e^rlid)  bait’  id)  tljn. 

£)  t f)  Sd)  aud). 

40  Sago.  9ftan  follte  feiu  ba3,  ma3  man  fd)eiut; 

Unb  biee3  nidjt  finb,  fodteu’3  and)  nid)t  fcfjeinen. 

Qtfj.  ©an&  red)tf  man  fodte  feiit  ba3,  ma3  man  fd)eint. 

Sago,  9cun  mof)l,  fo  bait’  id)  Gaffio  benn  fiir  ef)rlid). 

45 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  Nay,  yet  there’s  more  in  this : 

I pr’ythee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings, 

As  thou  dost  ruminate,  and  give  thy  worst  of  thought 
The  worst  of  words. 

5 Iag£l  i T i Gopd  lorcl,  Pardon  me: 

1 hough  I am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 

I am  not  bound  to  that  all  slaves  are  free  to. 

Utter  my  thoughts  ? 

Why,  say  they  are  vile  and  false,— 

10  As  where  s that  palace  whereinto  foul  things 

Sometimes  intrude  not?  who  has  a breast  so  pure 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 
Keep  leets  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful? 

15  Oth  Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  Iago, 

It  thou  but  think’st  him  wrong’d  and  mak’st  his  ear 
A stranger  to  thy  thoughts. 

IaS°'  I do  beseech  you — 

1 hough  I perchance  am  vicious  in  my  guess, 

20  (As,  I confess,  it  is  my  nature’s  plague 
To  spy  into  abuses,  and  oft  my  jealousy 
bhapes  faults  that  are  not)  — that  your  wisdom  yet 
rrom  one  that  so  imperfectly  conceits. 

Would  take  no  notice,  nor  build  yourself  a trouble 
2o  (Jut  of  his  scattering  and  unsure  observance. 

It  were  not  for  your  quiet  nor  your  good, 

Nor  for  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  wisdom, 

To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 

/->.  i • What  dost  thou  mean? 

oO  Iago . Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my 
lord, 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls: 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash;  ’tis  something, nothing; 
Iwas  mine,  ’tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thou- 
35  sands ; 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I’ll  know  thy  thoughts! 

40  Iago  You  cannot,  if  my  heart  were  in  your  hand: 

Nor  shall  not,  whilst  ’tis  in  my  custody. 

Oth.  Ha ! J 

Iago.  0,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy; 

46 


Dt^effo. 


£)tf).  U?einf  bamit  meinft  bu  tnebr: 

3dj  bitf  bid),  fprid)  mir  gam  fo  trie  bu  benfft, 

®an$  mie  bu  finnft;  mtb  gieb  bem  fdjttmmften  $)enfen 
fdjlimmfte  28ort. 

5 3 ago.  9ttein  (General,  Uenei^t; 

Dbgleid)  $u  jeber  ®ienft^flid)t  eud)  derbunben, 

9cid)t  bin  id)r§  ba,  mo  ©flatten  fret  fid)  fitfjlen. 
9lu£fbred)en  bte  ©ebanfen! 

®efej3t,  fie  maren  ttiebrig  unb  derfebrt  — 

0 28 o iff  ber  ^Salaft,  mo  nid)t  aud)  einmal 

©djdnMtd)e3  einbringt?  28effen  §er§  fo  rein, 

3)aft  ber  unb  jener  fdjmit^ge  gmeifel  nid)t 
(£inntal  ju  9ft  at  fi|t  unb  ®erid)t§tag  bait 
2Rit  redjt^gentafeer  gorfdjung? 

15  Dtb.  3)u  itbft  $errat  an  beiriem  greunbe,  Qago! 

®taubft  bu,  man  frcinf  ibn,  unb  derbitdft  il)m  bod), 
2Ba§  bu  nur  irgettb  benfeit  magft. 

3 ago.  3d)  b>ittT  eud), 

2Benn  aud)  diedeid)t  fatfd)  iff,  ma§  id)  derntute 
10  (2Bie%  id)  befenn’  e§,  ftetS  mein  Seben  quad, 
gebltritlen  nad)gebrn;  aucb  mein2lrgmobn  oft 
2(u§  nid)t§  bie  ©iinbe  fdjafft),  bafc  eure  2Bei§beit 
2tuf  einen,  ber  fo  undodfontmen  mabrnimrnt, 

9tid)t  bbren  mag;  nod)  Unrub’  end)  erbau’n 
25  9tit§  feiner  ungemife  serftreuten  feinting;  — 

Sftidjt  fann’3  befteb’u  mit  eurer  Dftub’  mtb  SBoMfaTnt, 
2iod)  meiner  SDftannbeit,  Ofteblidjfeit  unb  $orfid)t, 

Sag'  id)  end),  ma§  id)  beitfe. 

Dtb.  6bricb,  ma§  meinft  bu? 

30  3 <*go.  £>er  gute  9ftame  ift  bet  SKamt  unb  grau, 

2ftein  befter  §err, 

3)a3  eigentlidie  5Heinob  ibrer  ©eeten. 

28er  nteinen  23eutet  ftiebtt,  nirnrnt  SEanb;  ’§  ift  etmaS 
Unb  ntdjtS;  mein  mar  e§  ,marb  ba§  ©eine  nun 
35  Unb  ift  ber  ©ftatt’  tmn  Xaufenben  gemefen. 

3)od),  mer  ben  guten  tauten  mir  entmenbet, 

3)er  raubt  mir  ba§,  ma§  ibn  nid)t  reid)er  madid 
2)Ucb  aber  bettelarm. 

Dtt).  $eim  fmnmel!  id)  mid  miffen,  ma§  bu  benfft. 

40  3ado.  35*  founts  nid)t,  tag’  in  eurer  £anb  mein  Sen, 
??od)  fodt  ib*%  meil  e§  meine  23ruft  derfdjliefet.  ' ( 
£ t b.  Sa ! — 

3 ago.  £,  bemabrt  end),  £>err,  dor  (giferfwdjt, 


OTHELLO. 


It  is  the  green-ey’d  monster  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  feeds  on : that  cuckold  lives  in  bliss  * 
Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger* 

But,  0,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o’er  ’ 

Who  dotes,  yet  doubts,  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves! 
Oth.  0 misery! 

Iago.  Poor  and  content  is  rich  and  rich  enough, 

But  riches  fineless  is  as  poor  as  winter 
To  him  that  ever  fears  he  shall  be  poor. 

1U  Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy! 

Oth . Why,  why  is  this? 

Think’st  thou  I’d  make  a life  of  jealousy, 

To  follow  still  the  changes  of  the  moon 
15  With  fresh  suspicions?  No;  to  be  once  in  doubt 
Is  once  to  be  resolv’d:  exchange  me  for  a goat 
When  I shall  turn  the  business  of  my  soul  ’ 

To  such  exsufflicate  and  blown  surmises, 

Matching  thy  inference.  ’Tis  not  to  make  me  jealous 
0 To  say  my  wife  is  fair,  feeds  well,  loves  company, 

Is  free  of  speech,  sings,  plays  and  dances  well; 

Where  virtue  is,  these  are  more  virtuous: 

Nor  from  mine  own  weak  merits  will  I draw 
The  smallest  fear  or  doubt  of  her  revolt; 

25  For  she  had  eyes,  and  chose  me.  No,  Iago; 

I’ll <see  before  I doubt;  when  I doubt,  prove; 

And,  on  the  proof,  there  is  no  more  but  this,  — 

Away  at  once  with  love  or  jealousy! 

Iago.  I’m  glad  of  it;  for  now  I shall  have  reason 
30  To  show  the  love  and  duty  that  I bear  you 
With  franker  spirit:  therefore,  as  I am  bound, 

Receive  it  from  me.  I speak  not  yet  of  proof. 

Look  to  your  wife;  observe  her  well  with  Cassio; 

Wear  your  eye  thus,  not  jealous  nor  secure: 

35  I would  not  have  your  free  and  noble  nature, 

Out  of  self-bounty,  be  abus’d;  look  to’t: 

I know  our  country  disposition  well; 

In  Venice  they  do  let  heaven  see  the  pranks 
They  dare  not  show  their  husbands ; their  best  conscience 
40  Is  — not  to  leave’t  undone,  but  keep’t  unknown. 

Oth.  Dost  thou  say  so? 

Iago.  She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you; 

And  when  she  seem’d  to  shake  and  fear  your  looks, 

47 


Ottjefto. 


&em  gritngeaugten  ©djeujal,  ba§  befitbeTt 
$)ie  ©peife,  bie  e§  nafjrt  - §eil  bent  33etrognen, 

3)er,  feiner  ©djmad)  bemufjt,  bie  galfdje  ^afet! 

®od)  meld)e  CUtalminuten  •ftdblt  ber  Sftann, 

5 $>er  liebt,  oer^meifelt!  argmobnt  unb  Uergottert! 

Dtf).  £)  gammer! 

gaqo.  ton  unb  oergniigt  ift  reid)  unb  itberreid) 

$jod)  $rofit§’  9fteid)tum  ift  fo  arnt  al§  Winter 
giir  ben,  ber  itnmer  fitrdjtet,  er  uerarme  — 

10  £)  £>immel,  fd)ilfe7  ad’  meiner  greunbe  £jerj 

$or  (Siferfud)t!  — 

0tb-  2Bie?  3Sa§  ift  ba§?  $enfft  bu, 

9Kein  Sebett  fod  au§  ©iferfudjt  befteb’n? 

Unb  mecbfeln,  mie  ber  sD£onb,  in  em’gent  ©djmanten, 

:5  W\ t ettrer  gurdjt?  ton,  einmal  Qioeifetn  inad)t 

9Jiit  (£in§  eutfd)loffen.  33ertaufd)T  mid)  mil  ’ner  ®eif), 
SBentt  id)  ba§  feirfen  meiner  ©eele  rid)te 
tof  foXd)r  Derblafne§,  nid)tige§  $bantom, 

SBabnfbielenb,  fo  mie  bu.  9Ud)t  medt  mir’8  ©iferfudjt, 

>0  ©agt  man,  mein  3Seib  ift  fd)bn,  gebeibt,  ftridjt  fcber^enb, 
©ie  liebt  ©efedfcbaft,  fingt,  ffuelt,  tanjt  mit  9te ij  — 

3®o  Xugenb  ift,  ntad)t  ba§  nod)  tugenbbafter  — 

Sftod)  fdjbpf  id)  je  au§  meinen  eignert  TOngeln 
®ie  fleinfte  gurd)t,  nod)  S^eifel^lbre^  $tbfad§; 

>5  ©ie  mar  nid)t  blinb  unb  mdl)tte  mid),  ton,  gago, 

©t)’  id)  jmeifle,  mid  id)  fetj'n;  jmeifP  id),  33emei3: 

Hub  bab’  id)  ben,  fo  bleibt  nid)t§  anbreS  iibrig, 
to  fort  auf  (£in§  mit  £ieb’  unb  (£iferfud)t. 

gago.  $)a§  freut  mid);  benn  nun  barf  id)  obne  ©d)eu 
50  (Sudj  offettbaren  tneine  £iebr  unb  $flid)t 

tot  freierm  §er(^en.  $)rum  al$  greunbe§movt 
£>ort  fo  Diet  nur:  nod)  fdjmeig’  icb  non  33emeifert. 

$ead)tet  eure  gran;  priift  fie  mit  (£affio. 

$)a§  toge  flar,  nid)t  btinb,  nicbt  eiferfiid)tig ; 

55  toe  traurig,  mitrb’  eu’r  freie§,  eble§  £>er$ 

©efrdnft  burd)  iitn’re  (Mte:  brum  gebt  vlcf)t ! 
totebig§  to  uub  ©itte  tenu’  icb  to  obi: 

$)ort  laffen  fie  ben  £)immel  ^inge  felj'n, 

3)ie  fie  bent  s3Jlann  tterbergen  — gut  ©emiffett 
10  £>eifet  bort  nicbt:  unterlafei  nein:  bolt  gebeim! 

Dtb.  toinft  bu? 

gago.  3)en  33ater  trog  fie,  ba  fie  eud)  geeblid)t  — 

* to  fie  nor  eurem  331  id  $u  beben  jd)ien, 

47 


OTHELLO. 


10 


15 


20 


She  lov’d  them  most. 

And  so  she  did. 

To^eefh  S°  C0Ul<1  ghe  out>  sucha  seeming, 

To  seel  her  lather  s eyes  up  close  as  oak— 

He  thought  ’twas  witchcraft:— hut  I’m  much  to  i,i™ 
I humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardo™  bUm 

for  too  much  loving  you. 

°,th'  T ...  , , I’m  bound  to  thee  for  ever. 
tago  I see  this  hath  a little  dash’d  your  spirits. 

Oth.  Not  a jot,  not  a jot. 

/af\  .„  ' I'  faith,  I fear  it  has. 

1 hope  you  will  consider  what  is  spoke 
Comes  from  my  love.  But  I do  see  you’re  mov’d* 

1 am  to  pray  you  not  to  strain  my  speech 
lo  grosser  issues  nor  to  larger  reach 
Than  to  suspicion. 

O/k.  I will  not. 

logo.  Should  you  do  so,  my  lord. 

My  speech  should  fall  into  such  vile  success 

Mv  ?L  hf“ghtS  a™  “0t  at-  Cassio’s  my  worthy  friend:  - 
My  lord,  1 see  you’re  mov’d.  J 

°‘j'  i « No,  not  much  mov’d : — 

1 do  not  think  but  Desdemona’s  honest. 

2°  Tnfh  H,vei  she  so!  aud  long  live  you  to  think  so! 
Oik.  And  yet,  how  nature  erring  from  itself,  — 

/a%-  ‘hefe’s  the  point:— as-to  be  bold  with  you— 
Aot  to  atiect  many  proposed  matches 
01  her  own  clime,  complexion,  and  degree. 

Whereto  we  see  in  all  things  nature  tends, — 

1 oh!  one  may  smell  in  such  a will  most  rank, 
roul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural: — 

But  pardon  me;  I do  not  in  position 
Distinctly  speak  of  her;  though  I may  fear 
Her  will,  recoiling  to  her  better  judgment, 

May  tall  to  match  you  with  her  country  forms. 

And  happily  repent. 

0th-  Farewell,  farewell: 

If  more  thou  dost  perceive,  let  me  know  more- 
bet  on  thy  wife  to  observe  : leave  me,  Iago.  ’ 

^ k'rd’  I take  my  leave,  [ Going. 

Oth.  Why  did  I marry?  — This  honest  creature  doubtless 
bees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  he  unfolds. 

48 


30 


35 


40 


Ctjjetfo. 


15 


20 


Bar  fie  in  end)  bediebt. 

£)t#  Sa  too#! 

Sago.  Shut  folglidj: 

0ie,  bie  fo  jung  fid)  jo  ocrftetten  tonnte, 

5 $)af)  fie  be§  $ater§  $lid  mit  Sftadjt  umpdte, 

$>a|  ed§  fiir  Qauber  #elt  — bod)  fdjeltet  midj,  — 

Sn  ®emut  bitt’  id)  end),  i#*  mottt  Oer^eib’n, 

Bemt  id)  $u  febr  eud)  liebe. 

£)t#  Sd)  bin  bir  emig  bantbar. 

10  Sago.  Stf)  W’,  bie§  brad#  end)  etmaS  au3  ber  Safjuttg. 
£)t#  © gar  nidjt!  gar  nid)t ! 

Sago.  1 Xraun,  id)  fiird#  e3  bod). 

Sd)  §off%  i#‘  mottt  bebenfen,  ma§  id)  f#a<# 

®efd)ab  au£  fiiebe:  — bod)  tfjr  feib  bernegt;  — 

Sd)  bitf  end),  §err ! bel)nt  nteine  Bode  nid)t 
Qu  grobernt  9?aum  unb  meit’rer  Stidjtung  au£, 
auf  $ermutung. 

£>t#  9ton. 

Sago.  $enn  tfjdtet  i#% 

6o  batten  nteine  S^eben  fd)lintmrre  Solgen,  f 
2113  idj  jemal§  gebad)t.  6el)r  lie#  id)  (£affio  — 

Sd)  fe#,  i#‘  feib  betoegt.  — 

£)t#  S nein!  nicf)t  febr!  — 

Sd)  glaube,  $>e§bemona  ift  rnir  treu. 

25  Sago.  Sang  bteibe  fie’S!  Unb  tange  mbg’t  ##3  glauben! 
£t#  Unb  bennod)  — ob  Sftatur,  menu  fte  berirrt  — 

Sago.  Sa,  barin  liegt'3:  att  — um  e3  breift  &u  fagen,  — 
6o  ntand)ent  |>eirat§antrag  miberfteb’n, 

SSon  gleidjer  £>eimat,  Bo#geftaIt  unb  Sftang, 

Bonac#  mir  fe#t%  Sftatur  bocf)  intnter  ftrebt: 

$m,  barin  fpitrt  matt  Bitten,  attyt  liiftern, 

^a^tofen  0inn,  ©ebanfett  imnatiirlid). 

Sebod)  berjei#:  id)  babT  in  biefent  Sail  ( 

§iicd)t  fte  beftimmt  gemeint:  obfd)on  id)  fitrdjte, 

S#  Bitte,  riicfgefetjrt  p befferm  Urteil, 

$ergleid)t  eud)  einft  ntit  i#en  £anb£genoffen, 

Unb  bann  oietteidjt  bereut  fie. 

£)t#  £ebr  too#!  £eb’  mo#! 

Benn  bn  me#  mabrnimntft,  lab  mid)  nte#;  erfa#en; 

40  5)etn  Beib  geb’  auf  fie  9ld)t!  — SSerlab  mid),  Sago.  — 
Sago.  Sebt  mo#,  ntein  gncib’ger  §err!  [Slfegeljcu 

St#  Barum  oerma#t’  icb  ntitf)?  — $>er  bratte  90tfenfd) 
0iebt  unb  meib  me#,  meit  me#,  al£  er  entbiittt!  — 


30 


35 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  My  lord,  I would  I might  entreat  your  honour 

To  scan  this  thing  no  further;  leave  it  to  tin 
Although  ’tis  tit  that  Cassio  have  his  place,— 

® (r  or,  sure,  he  fills  it  up  with  great  ability ) 

Yet,  if  you  please  to  hold  him  off  awhile, 

You  shall  by  that  perceive  him  and  his  means: 

Note,  it  your  lady  strain  his  entertainment 
With  any  strong  or  vehement  importunity 
10  Much  will  be  seen  in  that.  In  the  mean  time 

Let  me  be  thought  too  busy  in  my  fears 

(As  worthy  cause  I have  to  fear  I am,)  ’ 

And  hold  her  free,  I do  beseech  your  honour. 

Oth.  Fear  not  my  government. 

15  I a go.  I once  more  take  my  leave.  \Exit. 

Oth.  This  fellow’s  of  exceeding  honesty, 

And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a learned  spirit, 

Of  human  dealings.  If  I do  prove  her  haggard, 

Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart-strings 
?0  I’d  whistle  her  off  and  let  her  down  the  wind, 

To  prey  at  fortune.  Haply,  for  I am  black 
And  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
That  chamberers  have;  or,  for  I am  declin’d 
Into  the  vale  of  years,— yet  that’s  not  much; 

25  She’s  gone;  I am  abus’d;  and  my  relief 

Must  be  to  loathe  her.  0 curse  of  marriage, 

I hat  we  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours, 

And  not  their  appetites!  I had  rather  be  a toad, 

And  live  upon  the  vapour  of  a dungeon, 

30  Than  keep  a corner  in  the  thing  I love 

For  others’  uses.  Yet,  ’tis  the  plague  of  great  ones; 
Prerogative  are  they  less  than  the  base; 

’Tis  destiny  unshunnable,  like  death: 

Even  then  this  forked  plague  is  fated  to  us 
35  When  we  do  quicken.  — Desdemona  comes: 

Re-enter  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

If  she  be  false,  0,  then  heaven  mocks  itself!  — 

I’ll  not  believe ’t. 

40  Des.  How  now,  my  dear  Othello! 

Your  dinner,  and  the  generous  islanders 
By  you  invited,  do  attend  your  presence. 

Oth.  I am  to  blame. 


49 


Dttjcfto. 


3 ago  (juriicffe^renb.)  9ttein  ®enerat,  id)  mod)tT  eucb  fyxtfitf) 
bitten, 

9cid)t  rueiter  griibett;  iibertafi’t^  ber  $eit: 
llnb  iftr§  gteid)  recf)t,  (Saffto  im  $)ienft  $u  taffen 
5 (2)enn  alterbing§  fte^t  er  if)nt  trefflicf)  Dor), 

$)od),  menu's  eud)  gut  biinft,  ^attet  ifjrt  nod)  t)in; 

3)aburd)  Derrcit  er  fid)  unb  feine  28ege. 

£>abt  2ld)t,  ob  cure  ©attin  feine  fftitcffetjr 
sIftit  bringenb  beft'gem  Ungeftiint  begebrt; 

10  £)arau§  ergiebt  fic^  tnandjeS.  UnterbeS 
$) en!t  nur,'  id)  war  $u  entftg  in  ber  gurd)t, 

(Unb  mirflid)  mitft  id)  fiird)ten,  baft  icft’S  war  — ) 
llnb  fjaltet  fie  fitr  treu,  mein  ebler  f^elb^err ! 

Dtf).  ©orgr  nicf)t  um  meine  gaffung. 

15  Sago,  ^od)  einmat  nebm;  id)  2tbfd)ieb.  [©efjt  nb. 

Dtt).  &a3  ift  ein  9ftenfd)  Don  bocbfter  fRebticftteit, 

Unb  !ennt  ntit  mobterfabr'nem  @inn  ba§  £reiben 
$)e§  28etttauf§.  ginb1  id)  bid)  Derwilbert,  gatf, 

Unb  fei  bein  guftriem  ntir  untS  §er$  gefcfttungen, 

20  £o§  geb*  id)  bid),  fteug  bin  in  atte  Siifte, 

2luf  guteS  feliid!  — SSieHeid)t  wcftt,  weit  icf)  fdjmara  bin, 
Unb  ntir  be§  leidjten  UntganaS  ©abe  febtt, 

$)er  @tu;fter  §iert;  aud)  meit  fid)  meine  3abre 
©d)on  abwdrtS  fenten;  — bod)  ba§  betfd  nid)t  Diet:  — 

25  @ie  ift  babin!  — 3$  bin  getaufd)t!  — 9Jiein  Xroft 
6ei  bitfrer  $aft.  £)!  gtuci)  be§  ©beftanbS, 

3)aft  unfer  biefe  marten  28efen  fittb 
Unb  nidjt  ibr  Siiften!  Sieber  $rote  feiit 
Unb  Don  ben  ® iinften  eineS  ®erfer3  teben, 
so  2tt§  baft  ein  28infet  iin  getiebten  SBefen 

giir  Mnb’re  fei.  — £)a§  ift.  ber  ©roften  Gnat, 

6ie  baben  tninber  $orred)t  al§  ber  Sftiebere: 

*S  ift  ibr  ®efd)id,  unWenbbar  wie  ber  £ob; 

@d)ott  im  ©ntfteffn  fcbwebt  ber  gebbrnte  gtud) 

35  Stuf  unfren  0d)eitet.  0iebe  ba,  fie  !ommt! 

5)e§bemona  unb  Emilia  tretcn  auf. 

3ft  biefe  fatfd),  fo  fpottet  fein  ber  $immel!  — 

3d)  will's  nidjt  glauben! 

40  $)eSb.  9iun,  mein  teurer  £>err? 

$)ein  ©aftmabt  unb  bie  ebten  (£i)ftrier, 

$ie  bu  gelaben,  marten  fdfon  auf  bicb. 

Dtfj.  3$  5U  tabeln. 


49 


7 


OTHELLO. 


Des-  Why  do  you  speak  so  faintly? 

Are  you  not  well? 

Oth.  I have  a pain  upon  my  forehead  here. 

Des.  ’Faith,  that’s  with  watching:  ’twill  away  again: 

5 Let  me  but  bind  it  hard,  within  this  hour 
It  will  be  well. 

Oth.  Your  napkin  is  to  little: 

[He  puts  the  handkerchief  from  him,  and  she  drops  ii 
Let  it  alone.  Come,  I’ll  go  in  with  you. 

10  Des.  I’m  very  sorry  that  you  are  not  well. 

[Exeunt  Othello  and  DesdemonaJ 
Emil.  I am  glad  I have  found  this  napkin: 

This  was  her  first  remembrance  from  the  Moor: 

My  wayward  husband  hath  a hundred  times 
15  Woo’d  me  to  steal  it;  but  she  so  loves  the  token, 

(For  he  conjur’d  her  she  should  ever  keep  it,) 

That  she  reserves  it  evermore  about  her, 

To  kiss  and  talk  to.  I’ll  have  the  work  ta’en  out, 

And  give  ’t  Iago: 

20  What  he  will  do  with  it  heaven  knows,  not  I; 

I nothing  but  to  please  his  fantasy. 

Re-enter  Iago. 

Iago.  How  now!  what  do  you  here  alone? 

25  Emil.  Do  not  you  chide;  I have  a thing  for  you. 

Iago.  A thing  for  me?  it  is  a common  thingr- 
Emil.  Ha ! 

Iago.  To  have  a foolish  wife. 

Emil.  0,  is  that  all?  What  will  you  give  me  now 
30  For  that  same  handkerchief? 

Iago.  What  handkerchief? 

Emil.  What  handkerchief! 

Why,  that  the  Moor  first  gave  to  Desdemona; 

That  which  so  often  you  did  bid  me  steal. 

35  Iago.  Hast  stol’n  it  from  her? 

Emil.  No,  ’faith;  she  let  it  drop  by  negligence, 

And,  to  the  advantage,  I,  being  here,  took  ’t  up. 

Look,  here  it  is. 

Iago.  A good  wench;  give  it  me. 

40  Emil.  What  will  you  do  with’t,  that  you  have  been  so  earnest. 
To  have  me  filch  it? 

Iago.  Why,  what’s  that  to  you?  [Snatching  it. 

Emil.  If’t  be  not  for  some  purpose  of  import, 


Dttjello. 


25 


40 


$edb.  2Bad  rebeft  bu  fo  matt  ? 3ft  Mr  nid)t  mob  l? 

Dtb.  3d)  fiUjle  ©djmerj  an  meiner  ©time  ^ier. 

$edb.  ©i  ia,  bad  tommt  nom  SBadjen,  ed  oergetjt: 

3d)  mitt  fte  feft  bir  binben,  in  ’ner  ©tunbe 
3ft’d  wieber  gut.  . 

£)tb.  Deitt  ©djnupftud)  tft  ju  ttetn. 

[®ie  ta^t  tfjr  <S<$nuf>ftud)  fatten 

Safe  nur.  fomm’  mit,  id)  getj’  tjiuem  mit  bir. 

$edb.  ©d  qucitt  mid)  febr,  ba&  bn  bid)  unmobt  fubdt. 

[2)e§bemont  unb  Othello  ab. 

©mil.  ®lid)  freut,  bajj  id)  bad  2nd)  t)ier  finbe; 

$ied  war  bed  ffliobren  erfted  Siebedpfanb. 

SRein  wunberlidjer  SKamt  t)ief;  mid)  jd)on  ^etinmat 
$ad  Dud)  entwenben:  bod)  fie  liebt’d  fo  fet)r 
(®enn  er  befdjmor  fie’d  forglicf)  ftetd  jit  bitten), 

Dafs  fie’d  beftanbig  bei  fid)  tragt,  ed  tufft 
llnb  fpridjt  bantit.  Dad  ©tidmerf  setdju  id)  nad) 

Unb  geb’  ed  3°go ) ..  ...  . . 

2Boju  er’d  will,  ber  §immel  wctf) : gleid)met, 

3d)  fiige  mid)  in  feiner  Saunen  ©fuel. 

Sago  trttt  auf. 

gieBt’§?  28a§  tnad)ft  bu  f)tev  afletrt? 

9lun,  rant’  nur  nid)t,  id)  babe  wad  fair  bid), 
fpaft  wad  fiir  mid)?  Dad  iff  nun  rnoljl  nid)td  9leued. 
©i!  febt  mir  bod)! 

©in  tiarrifd)  SSeib  ju  baben. 

©o?  weiter  nid)td?  — Stun,  fprid) ! wad  giebftbumir 

Siir  biefed  Da(d)entud)? 

3aqo.  ®eld)’  Dafcbentudj ? 

©mil.  2Beld)’  Dafdientud)  ? 

©i  nun,  bed  iDiotjren  erfted  S3rautaefd)en!, 

Dad  bu  jo  oft  mir  ju  entwenben  biefeeft. 

3 ago.  ^aft  bu’d  geftoblen? 

©mil.  Dad  nid)t,  fie  lief)  ed  fatten  aud  SSerfeb’n; 

Unb  id)  sum  ©liid  ftanb  nab’,  unb  bob  ed  auf. 

©ieb  ba,  1)itx  ift’d. 

c*aqo.  ©in  braued  28eib!  ©ieb  ber! 

©mil.  23ad  foil  hir’d  nur,  baft  bu  fo  eifrig  braugft, 

3br’d  wegjumaufen? 

ago.  @i!  2Bad  gel)t’d  bid)  an!  [steibt  es  itjv  weg. 

mit.  §at’d  feinen  wid)t’gen  Qwed,  fo  gieb  mir’d  wieber: 

50  7* 


Sago. 

©mil. 

Sago- 

©mil. 

Sago. 

©mil 


I 


OTHELLO. 


10 


wl6  * f 6 lg^n;  P°or  lad^  she’ll  run  mad 
When  she  shall  lack  it. 

o L.  . He  n°t  you  acknown  on  ’t- 

I have  use  tor  it.  Go,  leave  me.  {Exit  Emilt 

I will  in  Cassio’s  lodging  lose  this  napkin, 

And  let  him  find  it.  Trifles  light  as  air 
Are  to  the  jealous  confirmations  strong 

tLPm°*S  °{  h0l7  wfit:  this  may  do  something. 

The  Moor  already  changes  with  my  poison : -I 

are’  in  their  natures-  poisons, 

Rnf  wifn  thf  ®,rst  are  scarce  fou“d  to  distaste, 
gut,  With  a little  act  upon  the  blood 

-Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur.— I did  say  so:— 


15 


Re-enter  Othello. 


20 


25 


30 


35 


NorkaHWR?r/e  COmes!  No£  P°PPy>  “or  mandragora, 
^ or  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world  8 

bhal!  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ow’dst  yesterday. 

0/nl'  \\T L r,  Ha!  ^a*  ^Se  to  me? 

logo  Why,  how  now,  general!  no  more  of  that. 

°j\  Avaunt ! be  gone!  thou  hast  set  me  on  the  rack:— 
I swear  tis  better  to  be  much  abus’d 
ihan  but  to  know  ’t  a little. 

,,71  How  now,  my  lord! 

°th.  What  sense  had  I of  her  stol’n  hours  of  lust? 
l saw  t not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm’d  not  me* 

1 slept  the  next  night  well,  was  free  and  merry; 

A round  not  Cassio’s  kisses  on  her  lips: 

He  that  is  robb’d,  not  wanting  what  is  stol'n, 

Ret  him  not  know’t,  and  he’s  not  robb’d  at  all 
Jago.  I am  sorry  to  hear  this. 

°th.  I had  been  happy,  if  the  general  camp, 

Pioners  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sweet  body 
So  I had  nothing  known.  0,  now,  for  ever 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind!  farewell  content! 
harewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars 
That  make  ambition  virtue!  0,  farewell!  ’ 

Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump 
lhe  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife. 

The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality, 

1 lide,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war! 

And,  0 you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 


Ottjetto. 


fjiie  nvme  grau ! — 6ie  roirb  bon  ©innen  fomnten, 
Seim  fie’S  bermiBt.  . ,.,a  , . , 

gaqo.  SaB  bit  nicf)t§  merfen:  g’nug,  ba|  idj’8  bebatf. 
@et)’,  lafe  mid).  t®inil 

5 3d)  toitt  bet  ©affio  biefeS  STurf)  betlteren, 

$a  foE  er’8  finben;  $inge,  teid)t  rate  Suft, 

®inb  fur  bie  C£iferfud)t  ®eroei§,  fo  ftarf 
Ste  93ibelfpritd)e.  ®ie8  fann  ffiirtung  ttjun. 

®er  SRotjr  ift  fcpon  im  Sampf  mit  meinem  ©ift: 

10  ®efiit)rlic|e  ©ebanten  finb  gleid)  ©iften, 

®ie  inan  ftuerft  taunt  raafjrntmmt  am  ©ejdituact, 

Mein  nad)  turner  Sirhtng  auf  ba§  Slut 

©leid)  ©djroefelmiiten  gtiip’m  3d)  fagt’  e§  to  opt!  — 


Dtfjetlo  tritt  auf. 

®a  fommt  er.  ®opnfaft  nid)t,  nod)  9Ranbragora, 

Died)  atte  ©cptummerfrafte  bev  Statur 
SSerpelfett  je  bir  $u  bent  fitfeen  ©cptaf, 

®en  bn  nod)  geftern  patteft. 

Dtp.  ©a!  ©a!  mir  trentod!  9Rir! 

3 ago.  9Jun,  fafjt  eud),  ©eneral!  sJM)t§  mepr  babott. 

Ctfi.  gort ! ©eb’  bid)  roeg!  ®u  roarfft  mid)  auf  bie  goiter: 
3d)  jd)TObv’,  ’8  ift  beffer,  fepr  betrogen  fein, 

9(t§  nur  ein  raenig  raiffen. 

3a qo.  Sie,  ©eneral? 

£)tb.  Sal  atjnet'  id)  bott  ipren  ftitteu  Siiften? 

3cb  fap’8  nicpt,  bad)t’  el  nid)t,  roar  opne  ©arm; 

©d)tief  root)!  bie  nadifte  9Jacpt,  ap  gut,  roar  fret  unb  frot) ; 
3d)  fanb  nid)t  ©affio’l  fuff  auf  ipren  Sippen : 

Senn  ber  93eftopt'nc  nid)t  bermiBt  ben  9taub, 

©agt  ipr’l  ipm  nidjt,  fo  ift  er  nid)t  beftopten. 

3 ago.  ©I  fd)tner)jt  mid),  biel  ju  BBten. 

Dtp.  9?od)  roar’  id)  glikftid),  roenn  bag  game  Sager, 
gropbub  unb  atteS,  itjren  fiiBen  Seib  gettoB, 

Unb  id)  erfupr  el  uid)t.  £>  nun,  auf  imtner 

gapr’  roopt,  be?  ©erjenl  9tup’ ! gapr’  root)!,  mein  griebe 

gapr’  root)!,  bu  waltenber  ©etmbufcp,  ftotjer  f rieg, 

®er  ©prgeis  madjt  jur  gugenb!  D,  fapr’  roopt! 
gapr’  to  opt,  ntein  toiepernb  MB  unb  fd)metternb  ©rj, 
PRutfdjroettenbe  grommet,  munt’rer  tpfeifenftang, 

®u  foniglid)  Lanier  unb  atter  ©tanj, 

$rad)t,  $omp  unb  SRiiftung  be!  glorreicpen  friegl!  — 
Unb  o bu  Worbgejdjofi,  be?  rauper  ©d)luub 


51 


OTHELLO. 


The  immortal  Jove’s  dread  clamours  counterfeit, 
Farewell!  Othello’s  occupation’s  gone! 

I ago.  Is’t  possible,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a whore, 

5 Be  sure  of  it;  give  me  the  ocular  proof; 

Or,  by  the  worth  of  man’s  eternal  soul, 

Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a dog 
Than  answer  my  wak’d  wrath! 

I ago.  ' Is’t  come  to  this? 

10  Oth.  Make  me  to.  see’t;  or,  at  the  least,  so  prove  it, 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge  nor  loop 
To  hang  a doubt  on;  or  woe  upon  thy  life! 

Iago.  My  noble  lord, — 

Oth.  If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 

15  Never  pray  more;  abandon  all  remorse; 

On  horror’s  head  horrors  accumulate; 

Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  wreep,  all  earth  amaz’d; 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 
Greater  than  that. 

20  Iago.  0 grace!  0 heaven,  forgive  me! 

Are  you  a man?  have  you  a soul  or  sense? 

God  bewi’you!  take  mine  office.— 0 wretched  fool, 
That  liv’st  to  make  thine  honesty  a vice! — 

0 monstrous  world!  Take  note,  take  note,  0 world, 
25  To  be  direct  and  honest  is  not  safe. 

1 thank  you  for  this  profit;  and  from  hence 

I’ll  love  no  friend,  sith  love  breeds  such  offence. 
Oth.  Nay,  stay: — thou  shouldst  be  honest. 

Iago.  I should  be  wise;  for  honesty’s  a fool 
30  And  loses  that  it  works  for. 

Oth.  By  the  world, 

I think  my  wife  be  honest,  and  think  she  is  not; 

I think  that  thou  art  just,  and  think  thou  art  not ; 
I’ll  have  some  proof:  her  name,  that  was  as  fresh 
35  As  Dian’s  visage,  is  now  begrim’d  and  black 

As  mine  own  face.  If  there  be  cords,  or  knives, 
Poison,  or  fire,  or  suffocating  streams, 

I’ll  not  endure  it. % Would  I were  satisfied! 

Iago.  I see,  sir,  you  are  eaten  up  with  passion: 

40  I do  repent  me  that  I put  it  to  you. 

You  would  be  satisfied? 

Oth.  Would!  nay,  I will. 

Iago.  And  may:  but,  how?  how  satisfied,  my  lord? 

52 


jDtljeflo. 


10 


30 


35 


40 


em’aen  ^ot)i§  Conner  miebeiftdlt, 
ftab t’  mofjl ! OtfteHoS  Xagmerf  ift  getfjan! 
cyrtoo  <W8  modi  (ft!  — ©nab’get  ©err  — 

Dtl).  S3emeife,  Sdiurf',  mir,  bafj  mein  SBetb  berbuf)lt, 
Xfiu’8  jo,  fd)aff’  mir  ben  fid)tlid)en  aSevuetS ; 

©onft,  bei  bent  Seben  meiner  cm  gen  ©eele, 

SSeffer  roar’  bir’S,  ein  ©unb  geboren  fetn, 

9tt§  meinem  ©rimm  bid)  ftetten. 
cvaao  $a£)tn  !am’§? 

r t ti.  * ©eb’n  mitt  id),  ober  minbeftenS  33emetS, 

2(n  bent  tein  ©citcbeu  jei,  ben  fteinften  Bwetfel 
9)U  biingen  b’ran,  fonft  roe£)e  betner  ©eele. 

3ago.  3Mn  ebler  ©err!  — , . , 

rtj,  s®enn  bn  fie  free!)  uerleumbeft  nnb  fotterft  mid), 

~ ®ann  bete  nie  mefjr;  fdjtiefj’  bie  itted)nung  ab; 

2luf  bodiften  ©reuet  ^aufe  neuen  ©reul; 
mad)',  bag  ber  ©imrnet  memt,  bte  ©rbe  bebt, 

®enn  nidjtS  511m  ero’gen  glud)e  fannft  bn  fugen, 

®aS  gtofiet  fet^  0 £,immet ! fcbufct  mid)!  — 

©eib  ibr  ein  SJlann?  Ijabt  i£>r  SSernunft  unb  ©mn? 
Sabrt  mob!  benn!  Dtebrnt  mein  9lntt.  - ^d)  biobet 
®eS  Sieb’  unb  itteblidjfeit  a IS  Softer  gtlt!  — 

O!  febnobe  SSett!  merf  auf,  inert’  auf,  0 SBelt! 
9(ufrid)tig  fern  unb  rebtid)  bringt  ©efat)r. 

®ant  fur  bie  SSBarnung;  teinen  ^reunb  non  je|t 
Sieb’  id)  b»infort,  ba  Siebe  fo  nertegt 
£>tb  tttein,  bleib’,  bn  fottteft  bod)  roobl  ebrttd)  fern. 

3 ago.  ting  fottt’  id)  fein:  benn  ©rabtjeit  ift  ’ne  Xi)otut, 
®ie  baS  nerfebtt,  monad)  fie  ftrebt.  • 

Dtb-  $ei  ®Dtt 

3d)  bent’,  mein  28 eib  ift  treu,  unb  ift  eS  Jtidjt; 

3d)  bente,  bu  bift  bran,  unb  bift  e§  md)t; 

3d)  mitt  33emei8.  3br  SRame,  einft  fo  bed 
5Bie  SianenS  2tnttifi,  ift  nun  mitft  unb  fdjmarj 
2Bie  mein  ®efid)t.  — SBenn’S  tttteffer  gtebt  unb  Stride, 
©ift,  3-euer,  ober  ©triime  jum  ©rfaufeu, 

3d)  bulb’  eS  nid)t.  — © mar’  id)  iiberjeugt!  — 

3 ago.  3d)  febe,  mie  eud)  Seibenftbaft  berjebrt; 
sifft id)  reut,  baf)  id)  eud)  Slntafj  gab:  fo  modjtet 

0,f ' i'"’?  ■»#,?  »i«,  M,  »«’«■ 

3 ago.  Unb  fount’.  £)oft  mie?  2Bie  uber^eugt,  o §evr? 
52 


£ftor, 


OTHELLO. 


Would  you,  the  supervisor,  grossly  gape  on, — 

Behold  her  tupp’d? 

Oth.  Death  and  damnation!  — 0! 

Iago.  It  were  a tedious  difficulty,  I think, 

5 To  bring  them  to  that  prospect:  damn  them,  then. 

If  ever  mortal  eyes  do  see  them  bolster 
More  than  their  own!  What  then?  how  then? 

What  shall  I say?  Where’s  satisfaction? 

It  is  impossible  you  should  see  this, 

10  Were  they  as  prime  as  goats,  as  hot  as  monkeys, 

As  salt  as  wolves  in  pride,  and  fools  as  gross 
As  ignorance  made  drunk.  But  yet,  I say, 

If  imputation  and  strong  circumstances, 

Which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  druth, 

15  Will  give  you  satisfaction,  you  may  have  ’t. 

Oth.  Give  me  a living  reason  she’s  disloyal. 

Iago.  I do  not  like  the  office: 

But,  sith  I’m  enter’d  in  this  cause  so  far, 

Prick’d  to  ’t  by  foolish  honesty  and  love, 

20  I will  go  on.  I lay  with  Cassio  lately; 

And,  being  troubled  with  a raging  tooth, 

I could  not  sleep. 

There  are  a kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul 
That  in  their  sleeps  will  mutter  their  affairs; 

25  One  of  this  kind  is  Cassio: 

In  sleep  I heard  him  say,  „Sweet  Desdemona, 

Let  us  be  wary,  let  us  hide  our  loves  ;u 

And  then,  sir,  would  he  gripe  and  wring  my  hand, 

Cry  „0  sweet  creature !“  and  then  kiss  me  hard, 

30  As  if  he  pluck’d  up  kisses  by  the  roots 

That  grew  upon  my  lips:  then  laid  his  leg 
Over  my  thigh,  and  sigh’d,  and  kiss’d;  and  then 
Cried  „Cursed  fate  that  gave  thee  to  the  Moor!“ 

Oth.  0 monstrous ! monstrous! 

35  Iago.  Nay,  this  was  but  his  dream, 

Oth.  But  this  denoted  a foregone  conclusion: 

“Tis  a shrewd  doubt,  though  it  be  but  a dream. 

Iago . And  this  may  help  to  thicken  other  proofs 
That  do  demonstrate  thinly. 

40 

Oth.  I’ll  tear  her  all  to  pieces. 

Iago.  Nay,  but  be  wise:  yet  we  see  nothing  done 
She  may  he  honest  yet.  Tell  me  but  this, 

53 


Dtfjeflo. 


Soflt  it)X  tnit  offnem  *(icf  bie  gred)beit  fdfau’n? 

©ie  jet)’n  gepaart? 

Otfi.  6a!  Sob  unb  Seufet!  o!  . 

3 a g o.  ©in  fdfroierig  Untemetjmcn,  bent’  id)  nttr, 

5 ©ie  fo  pr  ©d)au  ju  bringen:  ’§  roar'  ju  toil, 

2Benn  mebr  nod)  aid  bier  Stugen  gutritt  fanben 
S8ei  fold)ent  Su)t)piel ! SBa§  benn  alfo?  2Bte? 

2Sa§  foil  id)  tt)un?  23o  Ueberjeugung  finben? 
llnmbgtid)  ift  e§,  bieS  mit  anpfeb’n, 

10  llnb  rodren  fie  roie  ©eif:’  unb  Slffen  roilb, 

Jpitiig  roie  briinft’ge  SSiitfe,  plumb  unb  finnloS 
2Sie  trunfne  Summbeit.  Sennod)  fag’  id)  end), 

SSenn  ©d)utboerbad)t  unb  ©riinbe  trift’ger  9lrt, 

$ie  grabf)in  fiibren  ju  ber  SBabrlfeit  Sbpr, 

15  ©ud)  Ueberjeugnng  fdfafften,  foldje  f)dtt’  id). 

Dtp.  ®ieb  ffiredjenbe  IBeroeife,  baf)  fie  fatfd). 

3 a g o.  3d)  t)affe  bieS  ©efdjdft: 

Sod)  roeit  id)  tiierin  fdjon  fo  roeit  gegangen, 

SSerlodt  burd)  Sieb’  unb  buntme  9teblid)feit, 

20  ©o  faijr'  id)  fort.  — 3d)  fd)tief  ntit  ©affio  fiingft, 

Unb  ba  ein  arger  ©dimers  im  gabn  in  id)  qudlte, 
ft'onnt’  id)  nidft  vuf)’n. 

$Run  giebt  e8  bDcenfdjen  bon  fo  fd)(affem  ©etft, 

Saf)  fie  im  Sraunt  auSfdjroaben,  roa§  fie  tt)un, 

25  Unb  ©affio  ift  ber  5trt. 

3 m ©d)tafe  feufjt’  er:  ©tifee  SeSbemona! 

©ei  aditfam,  unfre  Siebe  bait’  getjeim ! — 

Unb  bann  ergriff  unb  briidt’  er  meine  £>anb, 

)Rief:  ©iifje§ ' ftinb ! *-  unb  ti'ifite  mid)  mit  3nbruitft, 

30  3US  roottt’  er  ftiiffe  mit  ber  SBur^el  reiffen 
dits  meinen  Sippen,  legte  bann  bad  53eiit 
?tuf  nteineS,  feufjt’  unb  fiifite  mid)  unb  rief: 

S8erroiinfdjte§  So§,  ba§  bid)  bem  3Robrcn  gab! 

Dtp.  £>  greutid)!  greuiid) ! 

35  3 ago.  9lun,  bie§  roar  nur  Sraunt. 

Dtp.  Sod)  er  beioieS  borbergegangne  Spat.- 

3ago.  ©in  fd)lintm  SBebenten  ift’§,  fei’S  aud)  nur  Sraunt 
Unb  bient  bietteicpt  jur  ©tube  anbrer  ifiroben, 

40  Sie  fdfroad)  beroeifen. 

C 1 1).  3n  ©tiide  re  if)’  id)  fie! 

3 ago.  SfJein,  mafjigt  eud) ; nod)  fet)’n  roir  nid)t«  getpan; 
3^od)  tann  fie  fcpuibloS  fein.  Sod)  fagt  bie§  ©ine, 

53 


OTHELLO. 


Have  you  not  sometimes  seen  a handkerchief 
Spotted  with  strawberries  in  your  wife's  hand? 

Oth.  I gave  her  such  a one ; ’twas  my  first  gift. 

Iago.  I know  not  that:  but  such  a handkerchief— 

5 (I’m  sure  it  was  your  wife’s) — did  I to-day 
See  Cassio  wipe  his  beard  with. 

Oth.  If  it  be  that, — 

Iago.  If  it  be  that,  or  any  that  was  hers, 

It  speaks  against  her  with  the  other  proofs. 

10  Oth.  0,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives! 

One  is  too  poor,  too  weak  for  my  revenge. 

Now  do  I see  ’tis  true.  Look  here,  Iago'; 

All  my  fond  love  thus  do  I blow  to  heaven: 

’Tis  gone. 

15  Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell! 

Yield  up,  0 love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 
To  tyrannous  hate!  Swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught, 

For  ’tis  of  aspics’  tongues! 

Iago.  Yet  be  content. 

20  Oth.  0,  blood,  blood,  blood! 

Iago.  Patience,  I say;  your  mind  perhaps  may  change. 

Oth.  Never,  Iago.  Like  to  the  Pontic  sea, 

Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne’er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
25  To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont, 

Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 

Shall  ne’er  look  back,  ne’er  ebb  to  humble  love, 

Till  that  a capable  and  wide  rq^enge 
Swallow  them  up.  ( Kneels .)  Now,  by  yond  marble  heaven, 
30  In  the  due  reverence  of  a sacred  vow 
I here  engage  my  words. 

Iago.  Do  not  rise  yet.  \ICneels. 

Witness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above, 

35  You  elements  that  clip  us  round  about, 

Witness  that  here  Iago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart, 

To  wrong’d  Othello’s  service!  Let  him  command, 

And  to  obey  shall  be  in  me  remorse, 

40  What  bloody  business  ever.  [ They  rise. 

Oth.  I greet  thy  love, 

Not  with  vain  thanks,  but  with  acceptance  bounteous, 
And  will  upon  the  instant  put  thee  to’t: 

54 


Otfjeffo. 


10 


15 


20 


25 


35 


ibr  nie  fortft  in  eureS  38eibe§  £>anb 
©in  feineS  Xud),  mit  ©rbbeer’n  bunt  geftidt? 

Ctb.  eine§  gab  icf)  ibr,  ntein  erft  ®efd)enf. 

3 ago.  3)a§  mufdr  id)  nidjt.  Mein  mit  foW&etn  £ud) 

(©emifc  mar  e§  ba§  i^re)  fab  id)  beut’ 

©affio  ben  SBart  fid)  mifdjen. 

Dtt).  SSdr7  e§  “ 

3 ago.  ®a3,  ober  fonft  ein§,  fam’S  toon  ibr,  fo  *eugt 
©§  gegen  fie  nebft  jenen  anbern  geid)en. 

DU).  01  baf$  ber  ©flat>?  ^ebntanfenb  Seben  battel 
©inT§  ift  p ann,  p fd)toacb  fur  tneine  IEacf)e  l 
Sttun  febr  id),  e§  ift  mabr.  S3lidT  ber,  0 Sago! 

©0  blaf’  id)  tneine  £iebr  in  atte  SSinbe : — 

§in  ift  fie.  — 

Mf,  fcbmar^e  fftad)M  au3  beiner  tiefen  §oIIe! 

©ieb,  fiiebe,  beine  $ron’  nnb  ©erjen3mad)t 
£t)rann’fd)em  £>afU  3)id)  fprenge  beine  fiaft, 

D 23ufen,  angefiidt  mit  Mtterpngen! 

3 ago.  3d)  bitf  eud),  rubig. 

Dtb-  Slut  0 Sago!  SB  tut  1 

Sago,  ©ebulb,  toietteid)t  nod)  dnbert  ibr  ben  ©inn. 

Dtb.  9Me,  Sago,  nie!  ©0  meit  be§  s$ontu§  SO^eer, 

3)e$  eifger  ©trom  nnb  fortgemd^te  glut 
92ie  riidmdrtS  ebben  mag,  nein,  unaufbattfam 
3n  ben  $roponti§  roUt  unb  Hellespont: 

©0  foil  mein  blufger  ©inn  in  mut’gem  ©ang 
9Ue  umfd)aurn,  nod)  pr  fanften  Siebe  ebben, 

SBi§  eine  toottgeniigenbr  meite  9tad)e 

Sbn  ganj  toerfdjtang.  (@r  fniet  nieber.)  9htn,  beint  frpftatt' 
nett  Either, 

^it  fd)utbrger  ©brfurdft  toor  bent  beifgen  ©ib, 

SBerpfanb?  id)  b*er  mein  SSort. 

Sago.  ©tebt  nocb  nid)t  auf.  — fsniet  aud). 

SBe^eug’tS,  ibr  emig  gtiibn’ben  £id)ter  bortl 
Sbr  ©(entente,  bie  ibr  unS  umfd)tiefet! 

SBe^eugt,  baft  Sago  bier  fid)  meif)t  mit  altem, 

SSaS  fein  SBerftanb,  toaS  £er§  unb  §anb  toermag, 

Dtpetto’S  ©d)ntad)  p abnben!  ©r  gebiete, 

Unb  p gebord)en  fei  mix  £iebeSpftid)t, 

SSie  btutig  and)  bie  STbat. [@ie  ftefjen  auf 

Dtp.  3d)  grille  beine  Siebe 

9ftit  eittem  3)ant  nid)t,  nein,  mit  freub'gem  Sa, 

Unb  augenbtidtid)  fiibrf  icb  bid)  anS  SSerf; 

54 


OTHELLO. 


Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say 
That  Cassio’s  not  alive. 

I ago.  My  friend  is  dead;  ’tis  done  at  your  request: 

But  let  her  live. 

5 Oth.  Damn  her,  lewd  minx!  0,  damn  her l 

Come,  go  with  me  apart;  I will  withdraw, 

To  furnish  me  with  some  swift  means  of  death 
For  the  fair  devil.  Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant. 

Iago.  I am  your  own  for  ever.  [Exeunt. 

10 


Scene  IV.  Before  the  Castle . 

Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  Clown. 

Des.  Do  you  know,  sirrah,  where  Lieutenant  Cassio 
lies? 

Clo.  I dare  not  say  he  lies  any  where. 

Des.  Why,  man? 

20  Clo.  He’s  a soldier;  and  for  one  to  say  a soldier  lies,  is 
stabbing. 

Des . Go  to:  where  lodges  he? 

Clo.  To  tell  you  where  he  lodges,  is  to  tell  you  where  I lie. 

Des.  Can  any  thing  be  made  of  this? 

25  Clo.  I know  not  where  he  lodges,  and  for  me  to  devise  a 
lodging  and  say  he  lies  here  or  he  lies  there,  were  to 
lie  in  mine  own  throat. 

Des.  Can  you  inquire  him  out,  and  be  edified  by  re- 
port ? 

30  Clo.  I will  catechize  the  world  for  him;  that  is,  make 
questions,  and  by  them  answer. 

Des.  Seek  him,  bid  him  come  hither:  tell  him  I have 
moved  my  lord  on  his  behalf,  and  hope  all  will  be 
well. 

35  Clo.  To  do  this  is  within  the  compass  of  man’s  wit;  and 
therefore  I will  attempt  the  doing  it. 

[Exit. 

Des.  Where  should  I lose  that  handkerchief,  Emilia? 

Emil.  I know  not,  madam. 

40  Des.  Believe  me,  I had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  crusadoes:  and,  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 


Dtfjdlo. 


Safi  in  brei  £agen  mid)  turn  bir  fcernebnten, 

S)afi  (Saffio  nid)t  mebr  lebt. 

3a  go.  9ftein  greunb  ift  tot;  ibr  mottt%  e§  ift  gefd)eb? n:  — 
©ie  aber  jc^ont. 

5 £)tt).  $8erbammt,  toerbammt  fei  fie,  bie  f)it6fcf)e  ®irne  1 
fotnm,  folge  Ijetmtid)  mir,  icf)  mitt  iin  ©tilten 
(Silt  fd)nefle3  S£obe3mittet  mir  t>erfd)affen 
g-iir  biefen  fcbbtten  Teufel.  - Tain  bift  bu  mein  lieutenant. 

3 ago.  Qd)  bin  auf  emig  euer.  [©ic  getjen  aB. 


Dicrte  Sjcttc.  $8 or  bem  ©d)toffe. 

„„  ®c§bemona(  (&mttia,  bcr  Starr. 

la 

2) e3b.  £>e!  3Betftt  bit,  in  metdjer  ®egenb  Sieuteuant  (Saffio 
Itegt? 

9£arr.  3d)  modjte  ntd)t  fagen,  baft  er  irgenbmo  tiige. 

$)e§b.  SBarum? 

20  Sftarr.  (Sr  ift  ein  ©otbat,  unb  mottf  id)  fagen,  baft  ein  ©ot= 
bat  titge,  ba§  ginge  an  |)at§  unb  $ragen. 

$)e§b.  9£idjt  bod),  mo  motjnt  er? 

9?arr.  (Sud)  fagen,  mo  er  motjnt,  t)ief)e  eud)  fagen,  mo  id)  luge. 

$e§b.  3ft  barau§  motjt  ting  $u  merben?  — 

25  sJl  a r r.  3^  meife  nid)t,  mo  er  motjnt,  unb  fottf  id)  eine 
SSotjnung  au§  berSuft  greifeit  mtb  fagen,  er  liegt  tjier,  ober 
tiegt  ba,  ’ — ba§  tjiefee  in  nteinen  §at§  ^ineintitgen. 

3) e§b.  $annft  bu  itjn  motjt  au*frageit  unb  bid)  nad)  bem 
23ejd)eib  ntit  $ernuitft  geberben? 

30  9£arr.  3^)  KhCI  bie  28ett  tjinburd)  tatecfjifieren,  ba§  §ei^t : 
gragen  ftetten  unb  fie  antmorten  taffen. 

3)e§b.  ©udje  i^n  auf,  unb  fd)ide  ibn  fjer:  faae  ibrn,  id)  babe 
nteinen  ®emat)t  fur  ibn  geftimmt,  id)  I)offe,  atte§  merbe 
nod)  gut. 

35  9c  a r r.  "®ie§  au^urid)ten  reid)tnidjt  itber  ba§  SBerntbgen  be§ 
menfdjtid)en  ©eifte§,  unb  barum  mitt  id)  ba§  2tbeuteuer 
beftebeu.  [2tB 

3)e§b.  2Bo  babT  id)  itur  ba§  £ud)  bertegt,  (Smitia? 

(Sm  it.  3$  meifi  nidjt,  gnab'ge  gran. 

40  $ e § b.  ©laub'  mir,  Oiet  tieber  mi^tr  id)  meine  33orfef 
$ott  Doit  (Srufabog.  2Bar'  mein  ebter  9ttobr 
9M)t  grojsgefinnt  unb  frei  Uotn  niebern  ©toff 
3)er  (Siferfudjt,  bie3  fount'  auf  fd)timme  9)tonung 


OTHELLO. 


To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 

Emil.  Is  he  not  jealous? 

Des.  Who,  he?  I think  the  sun  where  he  was  born 
Drew  all  such  humours  from  him. 

5 Emil.  Look,  where  he  comes,  i 

Des.  I will  not  leave  him  now  till  Cassio 
Be  call’d  to  him. 

Enter  Othello. 

10  How  is  ’t  with  you,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Well,  my  good  lady.  [Aside]  0,  hardness  to  dis- 
semble ! — 

How  do  you,  Desdemona? 

Des.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

15  Oth.  Give  me  your  hand:  this  hand  is  moist,  my  lady. 
Des.  It  yet  hath  felt  no  age  nor  known  no  sorrow. 

Oth.  This  argues  fruitfulness  and  liberal  heart: 

Hot,  hot,  and  moist:  this  hand  of  yours  requires 
A sequester  from  liberty,  fasting  and  prayer, 

20  Much  castigation,  exercise  devout; 

For  here’s  a young  and  sweating  devil  here, 

That  commonly  rebels.  ’Tis  a good  hand, 

A frank  one. 

Des.  You  may,  indeed,  say  so; 

25  For  ’twas  that  hand  that  gave  away  my  heart. 

Oth.  A liberal  hand:  the  hearts  of  old  gave  hands; 

But  our  new  heraldry  is  hands,  not  hearts. 

Des.  I cannot  speak  of  this.  Come  now,  your  promise. 
Oth.  What  promise,  chuck? 

30  Des.  I’ve  send  to  bid  Cassio  come  speak  with  you. 

Oth.  I have  a salt  and  sorry  rheum  offends  me; 

Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

Des.  Here,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That  which  I gave  you. 

35  Des.  I have  it  not  about  me. 

Oth.  Not? 

Des.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That  is  a fault. 

That  handkerchief 

40  Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give; 

She  was  a charmer,  and  could  almost  read 

The  thoughts  of  people : she  told  her,  while  she  kept  it, 

’Twould  make  her  amiable  and  subdue  my  father 


Dtfjetto. 


(SrniL  SBeift  er  nid)t^  t>on  (£iferfud)t? 

$De§b.  2Ber?  (£r?  — $)ie  (Bonn1  in  feinem  Sanbe,  g(aubr  id), 
©09  aHe  foldfe  $)itn)V  i^m  au§. 

5 ©mil.  $)a  fommt  er. 

3)e3b.  Qldj  roitt  ibn  je£t  nid)t  laffen,  bi§  er  ©affio 
.gurudberief. 

0 1 1)  c n 0 tritt  auf . 

10  2Bie  gel)t  bir’§,  mein  ©tfjeHo? 

©tb-  2Bobl,  teure  grau! 

(23eifeite.)  © Oual,  fid)  berfteffen ! — 

(Saut.)  2Bie  geljt  bir%  3)e§bemona? 

3)e§b.  ©ut,  mein  Nearer. 

15  ©tb-  ®ieb  beine  §anb  ntir.  — $)iefe  |>anb  i ft  inarm. 
$)e§b.  ©ie  ^at  and)  filter  rticf)t  nod)  ©rant  gefiiblt. 

©tb.  $)ie§  beutet  grudjtbarfeit,  freigeb'gen  ©inn;  — 

£>ei{3f  beife,  ltnb  feudjt ! ©old)  einer  §anb  ge^iemt 
$lbtotung  non  ber  2Belt,  ©ebet  unb  gaften, 

20  $iel  ©eibftfafteiung,  21nbad)t,  fromnt  geiibt; 

3)enn  jung  unb  brennenb  loobnt  ein  Teufel  b*er, 

3)er  leid)t  fid)  auflebnt.  r§  ift  ?ne  milbe  |>anb, 

SDie  gern  t>erfd)enft. 

® e § b.  ®u  fannft  fie  mob!  fo  nennen: 

25  &enn  biefe  £>anb  tnar’§,  bie  mein  §er§  bir  gab. 

©tb.  @ine  offne  §anb:  fonft  gab  ba3  ^erj  bie  §anb; 

3)ie  neue  SSabbenfunft  ift:  §anb,  nid)t  §er$. 

$>e§b.  Nation  Derfteb’  id)  nid)t§.  Stout,  bein  SSerfbredjen? 
Dtb-  28eld)r  ein  $erfbred)en,  $inb?  — 

30  3)e3b.  3d)  lieft  ben  ©affio  rufen,  bid)  fpred)en. 

Dtb-  SDtod)  blagt  ein  toiberioart'ger,  bbfer  ©d)nubfen ; 

Seibr  mir  bein  £afd)entud). 

$)e§b.  §ier,  mein  ©emabl. 

©tb.  $)a§,  loelc be§  icb  bir  gab. 

35  3)e§b.  3dj  babT§  nid)t  bei  mir. 

©tb-  9tod)t? 

$)e3b.  28irflid)  nid)t,  mein  Xeurer. 

©tb-  mub  icb  tabeln:  biefe§  Sud) 

©ab  meiner  Gutter  ein  ^eunerioeib : 

40  'ne  Qaub’rin  tnar%  bie  in  ben  §er§en  la§. 

©0  lange  fie’§  betoabrte,  fprad)  ba§  2Beib, 

SBixrb’  e§  ibr  Sfteift  fcerleib'n  nnb  nteinen  $ater 


56 


OTHELLO, 


Entirely  to  her  love;  but  if  she  lost  it, 

Or  made  a gift  of  it,  my  father’s  eye 

Should  hold  her  loathed,  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 

After  new  fancies:  she,  dying,  gave  it  me; 

5 And  bid  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  wive, 

• To  give  it  her.  I did  so:  and  take  heed  on’t; 

Make  it  a darling  like  your  precious  eye- 
To  lose’t  or  give’t  away  were  such  perdition 
As  nothing  else  could  match. 

10  Dfs.  Is’t  possible? 

Oth.  “Tis  true:  there’s  magic  in  the  web  of  it: 

A sibyl,  that  had  number’d  in  the  world 
The  sun  to  course  two  hundred  compasses, 

In  her  prophetic  fury  sew’d  the  work; 

15  The  worms  were  hallow’d  that  did  breed  the  silk  : 
And  it  was  dy’d  in  mummy  which  the  skilful 
Conserv’d  of  maidens’  hearts. 

Des.  Indeed!  is’t  true? 

Oth.  Most  veritable;  therefore  look  to’t  well. 

20  Des.  Then  would  to  God  that  I had  never  seen’t! 

Oth.  Ha!  wherefore? 

Des.  Why  do  you  speak  so  startingly  and  rash? 

Oth.  Is’t  lost?  is’t  gone?  speak,  is  it  out  o’  the  way? 

Des.  Heaven  bless  us! 

25  Oth.  Say  you? 

Des.  It  is  not  lost;  but  what  an  if  it  were? 

Oth.  How ! 

Des.  I say,  it  is  not  lost. 

Oth.  Fetch’t,  let  me  see’t. 

30  Des.  Why,  so  I can,  sir,  but  I will  not  now. 

This  is  a trick  to  put  me  from  my  suit: 

Pray  you,  let  Cassio  be  receiv’d  again. 

Oth.  Fetch  me  the  handkerchief:  my  mind  misgives. 

Des.  Come,  come ; 

35  You’ll  never  meet  a more  sufficient  man. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  I pray,  talk  me  of  Cassio. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  A man  that  all  his  time 

40  Hath  founded  his  good  fortunes  on  your  love, 

Shar’d  dangers  with  you,— 

Oth.  The  handkerchief! 

Des.  In  sooth,  you  are  to  blame. 

57 


Dtfjetto. 


Hn  ibre  Siebe  feffelrt;  bod)  Oerlore 
Dber  oerfdjenfte  fie%  fatt  miirbe  bamt 
@ein  23Iicf  fie  fdjeu’n,  feirt  litftern  duge 
dad)  tteuent  deig:  fie,  fterbenb,  gab  tk  ntir, 

5 Unb  bief*  ntir%  menu  ntein  6d)tcffal  midi  Oerntabtte, 
3)er  ©attin  geben.  2)ie§  gefd)a^ : nun  bitf  e3 
9dit  garter  fiiebe,  gteid)  bent  dugenftern. 

SBedorft  bu%  ober  gabft  e§  fort,  e§  tndre 
©in  Unveil  obne  dZafe. 

10  2)e§b.  2Bie?  ift  e§  mbglid)? 

Dtb.  3a  mobd  in  bent  ©emebe  ftecft  diagie; 

©ine  ©ibtyde,  bie  ben  Somtentauf 
Stneifjunbertmal  bie  SBatjn  Dodenben  fab, 

§at  im  £robbeFfd)en  SBabnfinn  e§>  gemebt- 

15  ©emeibte  28itrmer  fbannen  ibr  bie  0eibe, 

@ie  fftrbfS  in  dhtmienfaft,  ben  fie  ntit  ®unft 
du§  3wngfrauTnbergen  gog. 

SDe§b.  SBirftid)?  ift’§  mabr? 

Dtb-  §bd)ft  guUedaffig;  brunt  bemabd  e§  mobt. 

20  £>e§b.  $)ann  motCte  ©ott,  id)  batf  e§>  nie  gefeb'n. 

Dtb.  ©a!  unb  meftbatb? 

®e§b.  2Ba§  ft>rid)ft  bu  fo  auffaltenb  unb  fo  fd)nelt? 

Dtb-  3ft- § fort?  Oedoren?  ©jnrid) ! 3ftr3  nid)t  oorbanben 

3)e3b.  ©ott  belf  ntir! 

25  Dtb-  dun? 

$)e*§b.  ’&  ift  nid)t  dedoren;  mennr§  nun  aber  mare? 
Dtb.  $a!  — 

$)e§b.  3cb  fctg%  e§  ift  nod)  ba. 

Dtb.  2)ann  boF  e§,  geigr  ntid§. 

30  3)e§b.  QaZ  fomtf  id),  $err,  adein  id)  mid  t&  nid)t. 
dlit  fo!d)em  ^unftgriff  tneic^ft  bu  ntir  nid)t  att§  — 

3d)  bitf  bid),  nintnt  ben  ©affio  mieber  an. 

Dtb*  ©o  bole  ntir  ba§  £ud);  ntir  abnet  @d)litnnte§. 

$)e§b.  0ei  gut! 

35  3Du  finbft  nid)t  mieber  fotdjen  tiid)Fgen  diann. 

Dtb-  ®ci$  £ud)  — 

£)e§b.  3<^  bitte,  fbridj  Don  ©affio! 

Dtb-  £)a§  Xud)  — 

3)e§b.  ©r  ift  ein  dcamt,  ber  ad  fein  ©tiicf 

40  don  je  auf  beine  $reunbfd)aft  bat  gebaut,  — 

Dtb-  $)a§  £ud)  — - 

£)e3b.  ^itrmabr,  bu  tbuft  nidjt  recbt! 

57 


8 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  Away ! [Exit. 

Emil.  Is  not  this  man  jealous? 

Des.  I ne’er  saw  this  before. 

Sure,  there’s  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief: 

5 I’m  most  unhappy  in  the  loss  of  it. 

Emil.  ’Tis  not  a year  or  two  shows  us  a man : 

They’re  all  hut  stomachs,  and  we  all  but  food; 

They  eat  us  hungerly,  and  when  they’re  full, 

They  belch  us.  Look  you,  Cassio  and  my  husband! 

1()  Enter  Cassio  and  Iago. 

Iago.  There  is  no  other  way;  ’tis  she  must  do’t: 

And,  lo,  the  happiness!  go,  and  importune  her. 

Dcs.  How  now,  good  Cassio!  what’s  the  news  with  you? 

15  Cas.  Madam,  my  former  suit:  1 do  beseech  you 
That  by  your  virtuous  means  I may  again 
Exist,  and  he  a member  of  his  love 
Whom  I with  all  the  office  of  my  heart. 

Entirely  honour:  I would  not  be  delay’d. 

20  If  my  offence  be  of  such  mortal  kind 

That  nor  my  service  past,  nor  present  sorrows, 

Nor  purpos’d  merit  in  futurity, 

Can  ransom  me  into  his  love  again, 

But  to  know  so  must  be  my  benefit; 

25  So  shall  I clothe  me  in  a forc’d  content, 

And  shut  myself  up  in  some  other  course, 

To  fortune’s  alms. 

Des.  Alas,  thrice-gentle  Cassio! 

My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune; 

30  My  lord  is  not  my  lord;  nor  should  I know  him, 

Were  he  in  favour  as  in  humour  alter’d. 

So  help  me  every  spirit  sanctified, 

As  I have  spoken  for  you  all  my  best, 

And  stood  within  the  blank  of  his  displeasure 

35  For  my  free  speech!  You  must  awhile  be  patient: 
What  I can  do  I will;  and  more  I will 
Than  for  myself  I dare : let  that  suffice  you. 

Iago.  Is  my  lord  angry? 

Emil.  He  went  hence  but  now, 

40  And  certainly  in  strange  unquietness. 

Iago.  Can  he  be  angry?  I have  seen  the  cannon, 

When  it  hath  blown  his  ranks  into  the  air, 

And,  like  the  devil,  from  his  very  arm 
58 


Duetto. 


Dtlj.  |)inmeg!  [5TB. 

IS  mil.  3ft  ber  nidjt  eiferfiidjtig? 

$)e§b.  @o  fat)  id)  it)n  nodj  me  l — 

(#emij3,  ein  3a^^er  ftecft  in  jenem  £udj: 

6 (Sin  wastes  unglucf,  bafj  id)  e§  Uerlor. 

(Smil.  ^an  lernt  ben  ^fiattn  nid)t  au§  in  einent  3dlj*; 

©ie  ade  finb  nur  9ftagen,  mir  nnr  ®oft; 

©ie  fd)lingen  un§  fynab  unb  finb  fie  fatt, 

©pei7n  fie  un§  au§.  ©el)t!  (Saffio  unb  mein 

^ 3 a g o unb  (S  a f f i o treten  auf . 

3ago.  $)a  ift  fein  anbrer  Seg,  fie  ntu|  e§  tljun; 

Unb  fietp,  mie  ati icflid}!  gel)7,  befturme  fie. 

$)e§b.  $un,  Ueber  (Saffio,  fagt,  mie  get)t  e§  eud) ? 

15  (Saff.  SUlein  alt  ®efud).  3^  bitf  eud),  gnab7ge  3rau, 

Safet  mid)  burd)  euer  fraftig  giirmort  mieber* 

(Srftefpn  unb  STeil  an  feiner  greunbfdjaft  finben, 

$)en  id)  ntit  ganger  Siebe  meine§  ^er §en§ 

SSreulid)  Oerebre:  — nid)t  t>er^og7re  fid)7§: 

.20  3ft  mein  $ergeb’n  fo  tbblidj  jdjmerer  2lrt, 

3)af3  meber  tmr7ger  $)ienft  nod)  jejpge  9?eu, 

91od)  $orfab,  fiinfttg  eblen  SDienft  $u  tbun, 
sDUr  feine  Sfteigung  mieber  faun  gemimten, 

©o  mivb  mirS  5Bof)Itl^at  fein,  e§  nur  $u  miffen; 

25  3)ann  borg7  id)  rnir  er^mung’ite  greubigfeit, 

Unb  fud)7  auf  einer  neuen  8eben§babn 
$)e§  ©liicf§  ^tlmofen. 

2)e§b.  2ld),  mein  ebler  (Saffio, 

$)ie§mal  ift  meine  9lnmaltfd)aft  nntfonft; 

30  ^Jlcin  §err  ift  nid)t  mein  i>erv ; id)  fount7  ibn  nid)t, 

Scir7  er  irn  2lntli£  tnie  im  ©eift  oermanbelt.  — 

©o  mag  mir  jeber  fromme  (Sngel  belfen, 

Sie  id)  fiir  end)  nad)  beften  $raften  fpradj; 

Unb  felbft  auf  fein en  ftoxn  fyab’  id)7§  gemagt 
35  3)urd)  breifte§  Sort ! 3b*  tniifjt  eud)  nod)'  gebulben . 

2Ba£  id)  nermag,  ba§  tbu7  id);  tbu7  nod)  mebr, 

2ll§  id)  fiir  mid)  je  magte;  bie§  geniig7  eud). 

3 a go.  3ft  er  er^iimt?  1 

(Smil.  (Sr  ging  nnr  eben  fort 

40  Unb  mir  Hid)  ungemobnlid)  aufgeregt. 

3ago.  $ann  er  'in  Qorn  fein?  5)ie  Danone  fab  id) 

3bnt  feine  ©rf)lad)treib7n  fprengen  in  bie  £uft 
Unb  mie  etu  Teufel  il)m  ben  eignen  Gruber 
58 


8* 


/ 

OTHELLO. 


Puff’d  his  own  brother; — and  can  he  be  angry? 
Something  of  moment,  then:  I will  go  meet  him: 
There’s  matter  in  ’t  indeed,  if  he  be  angry. 

Des.  I pr’ythee,  do  so.  [Exit  Jago. 

5 Something,  sure,  of  state, 

Either  from  Venice,  or  some  unhatch’d  practice 
Made  demonstrable  here  in  Cyprus  to  him, 

Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit;  and  in  such  cases 
Men’s  natures  wrangle  with  inferior  things, 

10  Though  great  ones  are  their  object.  ’Tis  even  so; 

For  let  our  finger  ache,  and  it  indues 

Our  other  healthful  members  even  to  that  sense 

Of  pain:  nay,  we  must  think  men  are  not  gods, 

Nor  of  them  look  for  such  ohservancy 
15  As  fits  the  bridal.  Beshrew  me  much,  Emilia, 

I was,  unhandsome  warrior  as  I am, 

Arraigning  his  unkindness  with  my  soul; 

But  now  I find  I had  suborn’d  the  witness, 

And  he’s  indicted  falsely. 

20  Emil , Pray  heaven  it  be  state-matters,  as  you  think, 

And  no  conception  nor  no  jealous  toy 
Concerning  you. 

Des.  Alas  the  day!  I never  gave  him  cause! 

Emil.  But  jealous  souls  will  not  be  answer’d  so; 

95  They  are  n<ft  ever  jealous  for  the  cause. 

But  jealous  for  they’re  jealous:  ’tis  a monster 
Begot  upon  itself,  born  on  itself. 

Des.  Heaven  keep  that  monster  from  Othello’s  mind! 
Emil.  Lady,  amen. 

50  Des.  I will  go  seek  him.  Cassio,  walk  hereabout: 

If  I do  find  him  fit,  I’ll  move  your  suit 
And  seek  t’  effect  it  to  my  uttermost. 

Cas.  I humbly  thank  your  ladyship. 

[. Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  Save  you,  friend  Cassio! 

Cas.  What  make  you  from  home? 

How  is  it  with  you,  my  most  fair  Bianca? 

40  I’  faith,  sweet  love,  I was  coming  to  your  house. 

Bian.  And  I was  going  to  your  lodging,  Cassio. 

What,  keep  a week  away?  seven  days  and  nights? 


59 


OtfjeUo. 


Son  feiner  ©eite  raffen;  — er  im  gorn?  — 

&ann  rnuf)  e§  ©rofje§  feirt ; — id)  get)'  unb  fud)’  it)tt  — 
©emifi,  ba§  Ijat  ma§  auf  ftdj,  menu  er  giirnt. 

$e§b.  $d)  bitt'  bid),  tf)u'§.  1st*. 

5 Siet(eid)t  ein  ©taat§gefd)aft, 

©ei’§  bon  Senebig,  fei'§  geljeinte  So§t)eit, 

®er  er  in  ©typero  auf  bie  ©bur  geraten, 

$£rubt  feinen  beitern  ©eift;  in  folajem  gad 
Qanfen  bie  banner  Ieid)t  mit  fleinern  Stefen, 

10  ©inb  grof$'re  aud)  ber©runb.  ©o  ift  e§  immer; 
$)enn/fd)mergt  un§  nur  ber  finger,  fjabett  aud) 

3)ie  iibrigen  gefunben  ©lieber  etma§ 

Som  28et)gefitf)l.  9tfein,  banner  finb  nid)t  ©otter; 

28ir  miiffen  nid)t  be§  Srdut’gamS  garte  3iiidficf)t 
15  Son  it)nen  forbern.  ©dnlt  mid)  nur,  ©mide; 

3d)  bad)te,  feiner  Sauf)ljeit  fdjon  ben  ©tab 
$u  bredjen:  fiel)r,  fo  finbifd)  toar  mein  $rieg§recf)t; 

5)en  8eu9en/  finb'  idj  nun,  beftad)  id)  felbft, 

Unb  er  ift  falfd)  berflagt. 

20  ©util,  ©ott  gebr,  e§  feirn  ©taat$fad)en,  mie  itjr  glaubt ; 

Unb  nidjt  ein  28at)n,  nod)  eiferfud)t’ge  ©ride, 

£)ie  end)  betrifft. 

2)e§b.  £)  tiebe  $eit!  — id)  gab  iljm  niemal§  Slnlafj. 

©mil  $)a§  ift  ben  ©iferfikfyt'gen  einertei: 

25  ©ie  finb  nid)t  ftetS  aii§  9lnlab  eiferfiid)tig, 

©ie  e.ifern,  meil  fie  eifern;  ’3  ift  ein  ©djeufal! 

©rgeugt  bon  felbft,  geboren  au§  fid)  felbft. 

^)e§b.  ©ott  fd)u£r  0tl)edo  bor  bem  ©d)eufal! 

©mil.  2(men. 

30  $)e§b.  3$  wid  iljn  fud)en;  ©affio,  bleibt  bier  nat); 

3ft  er  geftimmt,  betreib’  id)  eure  Side, 

Unb  mid  e§>  bi§  gum  ^leufjerften  berfudjen. 

©aff.  Qd)  bant'  in  3)emut,  gndb'ge  gvau! 

[$e§bemona  unb  ©mitia  ab 
35 

58  i arte  a tritt  auf. 

Si  art  c a.  ©ott  gritf*'  bid),  ©affio! 

©aff.  28ie  tommft  bn  ^ie^er? 

2Ba§  treibft  bu,  nteine  aderfd)onfte  Sianca? 

40  Qnft  modf  id)  gu  bir  fommen,  liebe§  £>erg. 

S i a n c a.  Unb  id)  mar  eben  untermegS  gu  bir. 

29a§?  ©ine2Sod)e  tonnt’ft  bu  aufjeri  bleiben? 

©ieben  Sag'  nnb  sJ?dcl)te?  — 8MjttnaI  gmangig  ©tunben, 


OTHELLO. 


Eight  score  eight  hours?  and  lovers1  absent  hours, 

More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times? 

0 weary  reckoning! 

Cas.  Pardon  me,  Bianca: 

5 I have  this  while  with  leaden  thoughts  been  press’d; 
But  I shall,  in  a more  continuate  time, 

Strike  off  this  score  of  absence.  Sweet  Bianca, 

[i Giving  her  Desdemona’s  handkerchief  '. 
Take  me  this  work  out. 

10  Bian.  0 Cassio,  whence  came  this? 

This  is  some  token  from  a newer  friend: 

To  the  felt  absence  now  I feel  a cause: 

Is  ’t  come  to  this?  Well,  well. 

Cas.  Go  to,  woman! 

15  Throw  your  vile  guesses  in  the  devil’s  teeth, 

From  whence  you  have  them.  You  are  jealous  now 
That  this  is  from  some  mistress,  some  remembrance: 
No,  in  good  troth,  Bianca. 

Bian.  Why,  whose  is  it? 

20  Cas.  I know  not,  sweet:  I found  it  in  my  chamber. 

1 like  the  work  well:  ere  it  be  demanded, — 

(As  like  enough  it  will) — I’d  have  it  copied: 

Take  it,  and  do  ’t;  and  leave  me  for  this  time. 

Bian.  Leave  you!  wherefore? 

25  Cas.  I do  attend  here  on  the  general; 

And  think  it  no  addition,  nor  my  wish, 

To  have  him  see  me  woman’d. 

Bian.  Why,  I pray  you? 

Cas.  Not  that  I love  you  not. 

30  Bian.  But  that  you  do  not  love  me. 

I pray  you,  bring  me  on  the  way  a little; 

And  say  if  I shall  see  you  soon  at  night. 

Cas.  ’Tis  but  a little  way  that  I can  bring  you; 

For  I attend  here:  but  I’ll  see  you  soon. 

35  Bian.  ’Tis  very  good;  I must  be  circumstanc’d. 

\Exeunt. 


40 


60 


DtfjeEo 


Unb  ad)t  nod)?  Unb  einfame  Siebe^jtunben, 

£angmeil’ger,  at§  ber  geiger,  ^unbertmal? 

D laft’ge  dfedjnung! 

(£aff.  ‘ gurne  nid)t,  mein  ®inb; 

5 $Rid)  briidte  fdjmere  ©or g’  in  alt  ben  £agen ; 

3)od)  merb’  id)  bir  $u  ungeftorter  3eit 
$)ie  lange  9fed)nung  titgen.  — Siebfte  Bianca, 

[(Sr  giefit  i^r  SJc^bemona’s  Xucf). 

geicbne  bie§  ^flufter  ab. 

10  Bianca.  ($i,  looker  fam  bie§? 

$)a§  ift  ein  $fanb  bon  einer  neuen  greunbin. 

^)ein  2Begfein  fcbmer^te,  bocf)  ber  ©runb  nod)  mebr: 

$am  e§  fo  meit?  9?un  gut,  fdjon  gut!  — 

(Safi.  ©et),  SPiabdjen, 

15  SSirf  ben  $Berbad)t  bem  Teufel  in§  ®ejtd)t, 

$on  bem  er  fam.  92uu,  bift  bu  eiferfitd)tig, 

$)ie§  fei  Doit  einer  Siebften  mir  gefd)enft?  — 

92ein,  glaub’  mir%  SBianca!  — 

Bianca.  ‘Iftun,  unb  motjer  fam’3? 

20  (£aff.  Qd)  meib  nid)t,  ®inb,  id)  fanb’§  auf  meinem  Simmer; 
$)ie  ©tiderei  gefattt  mir:  eb’  matt’£  forbert 
(28a3  balb  gefdjeb’n  faun),  miinfdjt’  id)’§  nad)ge5eid)net: 

$>a  nimm’3  unb  tbu’3  mtb  tab  mid)  jetd  aflein. 

Bianca.  5ldein  bid)  laffen  ? unb  marunt? 

25  ©a (f.  3d)  mub  bier  marten  auf  ben  (General; 

Unb  nid)t  empfebtenb  mar’  mir’§,  nod)  ermiinfd)t, 

3anb’  er  mid)  fo  begleitet. 

Bianca.  Unb  marunt  uid)t? 

(£aff.  9Ud)t,  bab  id)  bicf)  nid)t  tiebte, 

30  Bianca.  9mr,  bab  bu  ntid)  nid)t  tiebft. 

3d)  bitt7  bid),  bring’  mid)  etmaS  auf  ben  28eg; 

Unb  fag’  mir,  fommft  bu  mobt  t)eut’  2(benb  ^eitia? 

© a f f 3d)  faun  ein  fur§e§  ©tiid  nur  mit  bir  gebvn, 

28eil  id)  bier  marte:  bod)  id)  feb’  bid)  batb. 

35  Bianca,  ©d)on  gut;  man  mub  fid)  fiigen  in  bie  geit. 

[@ie  gcfjett  nt). 


40 


60 


OTHELLO. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  Cyprus.  Before  the  Castle . 


Oth . 


5 


I ago. 
Oth. 
Iago. 

To 


Iago.  Or  to  be  naked  with  her  friend  in  bed 
An  hour  or  more,  not  meaning  any  harm? 

Oth.  Naked  in  bed,  Iago,  and  not  mean  harm! 

It  is  hypocrisy  against  the  devil: 

15  They  that  mean  virtuously,  and  yet  do  so, 

The  devil  their  virtue  tempts,  and  they  tempt  heaven. 

Iago.  So  they  do  nothing,  ’tis  a venial  slip: 

But  if  I give  my  wife  a handkerchief, — 

Oth.  What  then  ? 

2o  Iago.  Why,  then,  ’tis  hers,  my  lord;  and,  being  hers, 

She  may,  I think,  bestow  ’t  on  any  man. 

Oth.  She  is  protectress  of  her  honour  too: 

May  she  give  that? 

Iago.  Her  honour  is  an  essence  that’s  not  seen ; 

25  They  have  it  very  oft  that  have  it  not: 

But,  for  the  handkerchief, — 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I would  most  gladly  have  forgot  it: 
Thou  said’st, — 0,  it  comes  o’er  my  memory, 

As  doth  the  raven  o’er  the  infected  house, 

30  Boding  to  all, — he  had  my  handkerchief. 

Iago.  Ay,  what  of  that? 

Oth.  That’s  not  so  good  now. 

Iago.  What, 

If  I had  said  I had  seen  him  do  you  wrong? 

35  Or  heard  him  say, — as  knaves  be  such  abroad, 

Who  having,  by  their  own  importunate  suit, 

Or  voluntary  dotage  of  some  mistress, 

Convinced  or  supplied  them,  cannot  choose 
But  they  must  blab — 

40  Oth.  u Hath  he  said  any  thing? 

Iago.  He  hath,  my  lord;  but  be  you  well  assur’d, 

No  more  than  he’ll  unswear. 

Oth.  What  hath  he  said? 


61 


OtfjeHo. 


SSierter  Stufjug. 

®r|le  Sjcnc.  ©ijpern.  gimmer  auf  b em  ©dj Ioffe. 

5 Dtljello  unb  Sago. 

3 ago.  9$ie  bi’tnft  ettcf)  ba§? 

£)tf).  28a§  foil  mid)  biinten? 

3 a g o.  2Ba§, 

©id)  tjeimlid)  fiiffen  ? 

10  Ottj.  ©in  Derbofner  $ufj!  — 

3 ago.  Dber  nadt  int  93ett  mit  i^rem  greunbe  fern, 

2$of)i  ©tunben  tang  unb  metjr  in  after  Unfdjutb? 

0tb-  $nt  $ette,  3ago,  unb  in  alter  Unfdfutb? 

^aS  t)iebe  |>eud)ete t fa  mit  bem  Steufel! 

15  2Ber  feufdj  fein  mitt  unb  fotdje§  tljut,  be§  Stugenb 
$erfud)t  ber  Steufet,  unb  er  felbft  ben  §itnmet. 

3 ago.  SBenn  fie  nicf)t3  tt)aten,  mar  ber  get)t  nid)t  groft; 

S£)od),  menu  id)  meiner  $rau  ein  Stud)  nerefmt  — 

Dti).  9iun  bann? 

20  3 ago.  Sftun,  bann  getjort7§  U)r,  gttdbrger  §err : unb  fotglid) 
$arf  fie7§  t>erfd)enfen,  mein7  id),  menu  fie  mitt. 

£tt).  ©ie  ift  ©ebieterin  and)  iljrer  ©t)re; 

2) arf  fie  bie  aud)  Uerfd)enten?  — 

3 ago.  $)ie  ©fjr7  ift  nur  ein  unficf)tbare§  28efett, 

25  Unb  oft  befittt  fie  ber,  ber  fie  nid)t  ^at : 

9lttein  ba§  Sud) 

Dtb.  23ei  ©ott!  mit  greuben  pit7  id)  ba3  Uergeffen:  — 

S£)u  fagteft,  — o,  e§>  fcfjmebt  urn  mein  ©ebdd)tni3, 

©o  mie  ein  tttab7  um  ein  nerpeftet  §au§, 

30  SSerberben  brau’nb,  — er  Ijabe  jene3  Stud). 

3 ago,  Sftun,  ma3  benn? 

Dtt).  S£)a§  ift  bodj  nidjt  gut,  aemib! 

3 ago.  ©agt7  id)  nod)  gar: 

3d)  fat)  itjn  eudj  befd)imbfen, 

35  Dber  fjort7  if)n  fagen,  — mie’§  benn  ©djurfen  giebt, 

3) ie,  menu  fie  burdj  if)r  ungeftiune§  SSerben, 

Dber  burd)  frei  SBergeffen  eine§  £8eibe§. 

©ie  jmangen  ober  tirrten,  nimmer  rutj’n, 

$8i§  fie  gefcbmatd,  _ 

40  D t b*  ' $at  er  fo  ma§  gefagt? 

3 ag  o.  3)a§  bQt  er,  gnab7ger  §err!  Sfcocf)  feib  tterfidjert, 
$id)t  met)r,  at§  er  abfdfmbren  mirb. 

•Dtb.  23a§  fagt7  er? 


61 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  ’Faith,  that  he  did — I know  not  what  he  did. 

Oth.  What?  what? 

Iago.  Lie — 

Oth.  With  her? 

5 Iago.  With  her,  on  her;  what  you  will, 

Oth.  Lie  with  her!  lie  on  her!  We  say  lie  on  her,  when 
they  belie  her.  Lie  with  her!  that's  fulsome.— Handker- 
chief— confessions — handkerchief! — To  confess,  and  be 
hanged  for  his  labour; — first,  to  be  hanged,  and  then  to  con- 
10  fess. — F tremble  at  it.  Nature  would  not  invest  herself  in 

such  shadowing  passion  without  some  instruction.  It  is 
not  words  that  shake  me  thus.  Pish ! Noses,  ears,  and 
lips. — Is ’t  possible? — Confess — handkerchief! — 0 devil!— 

[ Falls  in  a trance. 

15  Iago.  Work  on, 

My  medicine,  work!  Thus  credulous  fools  are  caught; 
And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames  even  thus, 

All  guiltless,  meet  reproach.  What,  ho!  my  lord! 

My  lord,  I say ! Othello ! 

^ Enter  Cassio. 

How  now,  Cassio! 

Cas.  What’s  the  matter? 

Iago.  My  lord  is  fall’n  into  an  epilepsy  : 

25  This  is  his  second  fit;  he  had  one  yesterday. 

Cas.  Rub  him  about  the  temples. 

Iago.  No,  forbear; 

The  lethargy  must  have  his  quiet  course: 

If  not,  he  foams  at  mouth,  and  by  and  by 
ZO  Breaks  out  to  savage  madness.  Look,  he  stirs: 

Ho  you  withdraw  yourself  a little  while, 

He  will  recover  straight:  when  he  is  gone, 

I would  on  great  occasion  speak  with  you.  [Exit  Cassio. 
How  is  it,  general?  have  you  not  hurt  your  head? 

S5  Oth.  Dost  thou  mock  me? 

Iago.  I mock  you ! no,  by  heaven.  : 

Would  you  would  bear  your  fortune  like  a man! 

Oth.  A horned  man’s  a monster  and  a beast. 

Iago.  There’s  many  a beast,  then,  in  a populous  city, 

40  And  many  a civil  monster. 

Oth.  Did  he  confess  it? 

Iago.  Good  sir,  be  a man; 

Think  every  bearded  fellow  that’s  hut  yok’d 
62 


Otfietto. 


Qaqo.  Safe  er  bei  it>r,  — id)  Weifi  nid)t,  tuie  er  fagte,  — 
©ti  2Ba3?  SGSaS? 

Sago.  ©elegen  - 

©tf).  '*>r? 

5 3aqo.  33ei  ipr,  auf  iffr,  tt>ie  it)r  roollt. 

Dtp.  ®ei  ii)f  gelegen!  auf  ipr!  ®a3  2nd)  — biefe  ©e= 
ftattbniffe  — baS'Sucp  — ©ingeftep’n,  unb  bantt  fitr  bie 
TOpe  gepangt  toevben ; juerft  gepdngt , bamt  eingeftep’n.  — 
gd)  jitt’re  bador!  — 9Jatur  tuiii'be  fidi  nid)t  in  fo  derfm= 
10  fternbe  Oualen  derpitHen , mare  e§  nicpt  SSorbebeuturtg. 
9Hd)t  SBapnbilber,  bie  mid)  fo  erfcpiittern!  — £>u!  fRafen, 
©pten  unb  Sipped : ift  e§  ntbglicp?  ©ingeftep’n,  — Xud), 
o SteufeU  — 

[®r  fallt  in  Df)nmad)t. 

15  3<*  go.  0ei  mirlfam,  ©ift, 

0et  mirtfantl  alfo  fanat  man  glaub’ge  barren; 

Mand)  macfre,  leitjdje  grau  !ommt  grabe  fo 

©art^  fc^ulblo^  in§  ©efcbrei.  - 2luf,  gndb’ger  $errl  — 

Ot^eUo ! — ©ttdb’ger  ©err ! — 

^ (£affio  tritt  auf. 

2Ba§  mottt  ibr,  ©ajfio?  — 

©aff.  2Ba§  qiebt’3? 

3ago.  $er  ftelbberr  ftiirjte  \t%\  in  ftrdmbfen  ^in; 

25  £)ie3  ift  feit  geftern  fdjott  feirt  jroeiter  StnfaU. 

©aff.  0o  rei6r  ibn  um  bie  0d)iafe! 

3a go.  9£eut.  laft  ab: 

2a  f)  i^n  in  feiner  ©tarrfudjt  ungeftort; 

0onft  fdfaumt  er  nor  bem  Mu nb  unb  raft  al^batb 
so  3n  milber  Xobfud)t.  0ieb,  er  riibrt  fid)  toieber ; 

©utferne  bid)  auf  einen  Stugenblid, 

©r  mirb  fid)  fdjneH  ert)oten ; menu  er  fort  ift, 

§atf  id)  nut  bir  ein  toidjtig  28ort  $u  reben.  — [£afHo  ab. 
me  ift  eud)?  §abt  it)r  nid)t  ben  $obf  Uerte|t? 

35  £)tb.  0brid)ft  bu  mir  §ot)n? 

Qago.  ©ud)  ^ofinen?  9tan,  bei  ©ott! 

3d)  motif,  ibr  triigt  eu'r  0d)idfal  roie  ein  Mann. 

Dt  f).  ©ebornter  Mann  ift  nur  ein  SBieb,  ein  Untier. 

3 ago.  0o  giebt  e§  mand)e§  $ieb  in  grofjen  0tdbtcn 
40  Unb  mand)’  t>ornebme§  Untier. 

£5t  b-  ©eftanb  er’§  ein? 

3 ago.  Mein  gelbberr ! feib  ein  Mann; 

$)entt,  jeber  barfge  Menfd),  in3  30Cb  ge)pwwt, 

62 


OTHELLO. 


May  draw  with  you:  there’s  millions  now  alive 

That  nightly  lie  in  those  improper  beds 

Which  they  dare  swear  peculiar:  your  case  is  better. 

0,  ’tis  the  spite  of  hell,  the  fiend’s  arch-mock, 

5 To  lip  a wanton  in  a secure  couch, 

And  to  suppose  her  chaste!  No,  let  me  know; 

And  knowing  what  I am,  I know  what  she  shall  be. 

Oth.  0,  thou  art  wise;  ’tis  certain. 

I ago.  Stand  you  awhile  apart; 

10  Confine  yourself  but  in  a patient  list. 

Whilst  you  were  here  o’erwhelmed  with  your  grief, — 

(A  passion  most  unfitting  such  a man,) — 

Cassio  came  hither:  I shifted  him  away, 

And  laid  good  ’scuse  upon  your  ecstasy; 

15  Bade  him  anon  return,  and  here  speak  with  me: 

The  which  he  promis’d.  Do  but  encave  yourself, 

And  mark  the  fleers,  the  gibes,  and  notable  scorns, 
That  dwell  in  every  region  of  his  face; 

For  I will  make  him  tell  the  tale  anew, 

20  Where,  how,  how  oft,  how  long  ago,  and  when 
He  hath,  and  is  again  to  cope  your  wife: 

I say,  but  mark  his  gesture.  Marry,  patience; 

Or  I shall  say  you’re  all  in  all  in  spleen, 

And  nothing  of  a man. 

25  Oth.  Dost  thou  hear,  Iago? 

I will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience; 

But — dost  thou  hear? — most  bloody. 

Iago.  That’s  not  amiss 

But  yet  keep  time  in  all.  Will  you  withdraw? 

30  [Othello  retires. 

Now  will  I question  Cassio  of  Bianca, 

A housewife  that,  by  selling  her  desires, 

* Buys  herself  bread  and  clothes:  it  is  a creature 
That  dotes  on  Cassio;  as  ’tis  the  strumpet’s  plague  ; 
35  To  beguile  many  and  be  beguil’d  by  one: 

He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 
From  the  excess  of  laughter.  Here  he  comes: 

Re-enter  Cassio. 

40  As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad; 

And  his  unbookish  jealousy  must  construe 

Poor  Cassio’s  smiles,  gestures,  and  light  behaviour, 

Quite  in  the  wrong. 


63 


OttjeHo, 


giebt  neb’en  eud).  TOIIionen  leben  ring§, 

3)ie  ndd)ttid)  xufyn  auf  )Hei§gegebnem  Sager, 

3)a§  fie  ibr  eigen  mabnen:  ib)r  ftebt  beffer. 

£)  ba§  ift  @atan§feft,  ©r^fpab  ber  ©ode, 

5 ©in  iibbi9  SBeib  int  fidjern  ©b'bett  fiiffen 

Unb  feufd)  fie  glauben!  $fte  in,  ©enriftbett  mid  id): 

Unb  id)  bie,  meift  id),  fie  ift  Oerloren. 

Dtb.  fbricbft  oerftdnbig!  3a,  gemifc!  — 

3 ago.  ©ebt  auf  bie  @eite,  ©err; 
lo  SSegebt  end)  in  bie  @d) ranten  ber  ©ebulb. 

3nbe§  ibr  gan^  don  eurent  ©ram  dernid)tet, 

(©in  SXu^brudj  mentg  jietnenb  fotd)em  'SJlann) 

®atn  ©affio  ber;  id^mufet7  ibn  meg&ufcbaffen 
Unb  euren  Onfall  triftig  $u  entfd)ulb7gen; 

15  3)ann  tub  id)  ibn  juriicf  auf  ein  ©eforadj; 

28a§  er  derbiefc.  vlnn  bergt  end)  irgenbioo 
Unb  nterft  ben  ©obn,  ben  fepott,  bie  @d)abenfreube 
3n  jeber  SDfciene  feine§  2tngeftd)t§ ; 

3)enn  beid)ten  foil  er  ntir  auf§  neu’  ben  ©ergang, 

20  28o,  mann,  mie  oft,  me  tange  fcbon  unb  mie 

©r  euer  SBeib  geber^t  unb  mirb; 

Sdcerft,  fag7  id),  fein  ©eberbenjpieL  $D  ftid  bod)!  — 

@onft  bent7  id),  ibr  feib  gan$  unb  gar  nur  28ut 
Unb  nid)t§  bon  einem  $£anne. 

25  Dtb-  ©orft  bu%  3<*go? 

3d)  mi  d bbcbft  fd)lau  jefct  ben  ©ebulb’gen  f©ielen, 

3)o d),  bbrft  bn7  3?  bann  ben  $8tut7gen. 

3 a g o.  ©o  ift7§  redjt— - 

3ebe§  ju  fetner  Qeit.  — 9hm  tretet  feitmartS. 

30  [DttjeUo  tritt  beifeite. 

igefct  toitt  id)  ©affio  ttad)  SSianca  fragen, 

©in  gute§  $ing,  ba§,  itjre  ©unft  toerfaufenb, 

©id)S3rot  unb  Kleiber  anfd)afft:  bie§  ©efdjityf 
Sauft  ©affio  nad);  unb  ’§  ift  ber  Sirnen  glitd), 

35  9Jad)bem  fie  jet)n  getdufdit,  taufd)t  einer  fie; 

©r,  menu  er  Bon  i£>r  tjort,  enueifrt  fid)  fautn 
Saut  aufeutadfen.  ©iet),  ba  fomnit  er  fjer : — 

©affio  tritt  auf. 

40  Unb  mie  er  ladjett,  fod  Otbedo  mitten;  * 

Unb  feine  ungetebr7ge  ©iferfudjt 

28irb  ©affio73  Sad)etn,  @d)er&  unb  teid)te§  SBefen 


63 


OTHELLO. 


How  do  you  now,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  The  worser  that  you  give  me  the  addition 
Whose  want  even  kills  me. 

Iago.  Ply  Desdemona  well,  and  you  are  sure  on ’t. 

5 [ Speaking  lower . Now,  if  this  suit  lay  in  Bianca’s  power, 

How  quickly  should  you  speed! 

Cas.  Alas,  poor  caitiff! 

Oth.  [aside]  Look,  how  he  laughs  already! 

Iago.  I never  knew  a woman  love  man  so. 

10  Cas.  Alas,  poor  rogue!  I think,  i’  faith,  she  loves  me. 

Oth.  [aside]  Now  he  denies  it  faintly,  and  laughs  it  out. 

Iago.  Do  you  hear,  Cassio? 

Oth.  [aside]  Now  he  importunes  him 

To  tell  it  o’er:  go  to;  well  said,  well  said. 

15  Iago.  She  gives  it  out  that  you  shall  marry  her: 

Do  you  intend  it? 

Cas.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Oth.  [aside]  Do  you  triumph,  Roman?  do  you  triumph? 

Cas.  I marry  her!  what?  a customer!  Pr’ythee,  bear  some 
20  charity  to  my  wit;  do  not  think  it  so  unwholesome.  Ha, 
ha,  ha! 

Oth.  [aside]  So,  so,  so,  so:  they  laugh  that  win. 

Iago.  ’Faith,  the  cry  goes  that  you  shall  marry  her. 

25  Cas.  Pr’ythee,  say  true. 

Iago.  I am  a very  villain  else. 

Oth.  [aside]  Have  you  scored  me?  Well. 

Cas.  This  is  the  monkey’s  own  giving  out:  she  is  per- 
suaded I will  marry  her,  out  of  her  own  love  and  flattery, 
30  not  out  of  my  promise. 

Oth.  [aside]  Iago  beckons  me;  now  he  begins  the  story. 

Cas.  She  was  here  even  now;  she  haunts  me  in  every 
place.  I was  the  other  day  talking  on  the  sea-bank  with 
certain  Venetians;  and  thither  comes  the  bauble  and,  by 
35  this  hand,  she  falls  me  thus  about  my  neck, — 

Oth.  [aside]  Crying  uO  dear  Cassio !“  as  it  were:  his  gesture 
imports  it. 

Cas.  So  hangs,  and  lolls,  and  weeps  upon  me;  so  hales 
and  pulls  me:  ha,  ha,  ha! 

40  Oth . [aside]  Now  he  tells  how  she  plucked  him  to  my 
chamber.  0,  I see  that  nose  of  yours,  but  not  that  dog 
I shall  throw  it  to. 

Cas.  Well,  I must  leave  her  company. 

64 


DtBello. 


©ana  ntifjberfte^n.  — 9tun,  lieutenant,  mie  gebt’3? 
daff.  @o  fd)Iimmer,  meil  bu  mir  ben  Site!  giebft, 

®effert  SBeduft  mid)  totet. 

3ago.  §alt’  i)e§bentona  feft,  fo  !ann’§  nid)t  febten. 

5 OBeifeite.)  3a,  tdge  bie§  ©efud)  in  SBiancaS  -Jttacbt, 

28ie  fd)nett  marft  bu  am  giell 
daff.  $)a§  arme  SDing! 

Dtt).  (Beifeite)  @ef)t  nur,  mie  er  fd}ott  tadjt! 

Qa go.  9Ue  babr  id)  fo  tiediebt  ein  2Beib  gefebit. 

10  daff.  $)a§  gute  -ftarrcben!  3a,  fie  liebt  mid)  midlid). 

£)tt).  (Beifeite)  Qe^t  leugnet  ed§  nur  fdjmadj  unb  ladjfS  binmeg! 
3a go.  £>or’  einmal,  daffio 
£)tl).  (beifeite)  3e|t  beftiirmt  er  ibn, 

d§  au  gefte^n;  nur  fort.  — IRed)t  gut,  redjt  gut!  — 

15  3 ago.  ©ie  riibmt  fid)  fd)on,  bu  nimmft  fie  balb  aur  $rau; 
3ft  ba§  bein  drnft? 
daff.  $a,  $a,  5a,  5a! 

Dtf).  (beifctte)  £riumbbie*ft  bu,  Corner,  triumb^ierft  bu? 
daff.  3d)  fie  %ux  Sfrau  nebmen?  — 2Ba§!  dine  SBubU 
20  fd)mefter?  3<5  bitf  bid),  babe  bod)  etma§  SDUtleib  mit  mei* 
nem  2Bi£;  ba^r  ib^  bod)  nicbt  fur  fo  gana  ungefunb.  §a, 
ba  ba ! — 

£>tb-  (beifeite)  ©o,  fo,  fo;  mer  geminnt,  ber  Iad)t. 

3 ago.  2Babrbaftig,  bie  9^ebe  gebt,  bu  murb'ft  fie  beiraten. 

25  daff.  9£ein,  fag’  mir  bie  S&abrbeit. 

3 a g o.  3<5  mid  ein  ©d)etm  fein!  — 

£)tb.  (beifeite)  3$  trage  alfo  bein  SBranbmal?  — ©ut!  — 
daff.  S)a§  bat  ber  dffe  fetbft  unter  bie  Seute  gebra^t.  $u§ 
ditelfeit  bat  fie  fid)r§  in  ben  ®opf  gefetd,  icf)"  merbe  fie  bd= 
30  raten;  nicbt  meil  id)’§  Oertyrodjen  babe. 

0tb.  (beifeite)  3ago  minft  mir:  nun  fangt  er  bie ©efd)id)te  an. 
daff.  dben  mar  fie  bier;  fie  oerfotgt  micb  ii6erall. 

^ceulicf)  ftanb  id)  am  ©tranbe  unbfprad)  mit  einigen  $8e- 
netianern,  ba  !ommt  mabrbaftig  ber  ©ra^affe  fyn  unb,  fo 
35  mabr  id)  lebe,  fadt  mir  fo  urn  ben  §al§  — 

£)tb.  (Beifeite)  Unb  ruft : o tieber  dajfio ! ober  etma§  abn* 
tid)e§;  benn  ba§  beutet  feine  ©eberbe. 
daff.  Unb  bdngt  unb  f iiftt  unb  meint  an  mir  unb  aerrt 
unb  aubft  mid).  §a,  ba,  ba’  — 

40  £)tb.  (Beifeite)  3etd  er^abjlt  er,  mie  fie  ibn  in  meine  hammer 
aog.  £>,  icb  febe  beine  fftafe,  aber  nod)  nid)t  ben  §unb,  bem 
id)  fie  oormerfen  mill. 

daff.  3*t  ber  £bat,  id)  mufc  fie  aufgeben. 

64 


OTHELLO. 


Iago.  Before  me!  look,  where  she  comes. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Cas.  Tis  such  another  fitchew!  marry,  a perfumed  one. 

5 What  do  you  mean  by  this  haunting  of  me? 

Bian.  Let  the  devil  and  his  dam  haunt  you!  What  did 
you  mean  by  that  same  handkerchief  you  gave  me  even 
now?  I was  a fine  fool  to  take  it.  I must  take  out  the 
work?— A likely  piece  of  work,  that  you  should  find  it 

10  in  your  chamber,  and  not  know  who  left  it  there ! This 
is  some  minx’s  token,  and  I must  take  out  the  work? 
There,— give  it  your  hobbyhorse:  wheresoever  you  had 
it,  I’ll  take  out  no  work  on’t. 

15  Cas.  How  now,  my  sweet  Bianca!  how  now!  how  now! 

Oth.  [aside]  By  heaven,  that  should  be  my  handkerchief! 

Biau.  An  you’ll  come  to  supper  to-night,  you  may;  an  you 
will  not,  come  when  you  are  next  prepared  for.  [Exit. 

Iago.  After  her,  after  her. 

20  Cas . ’Faith,  I must;  she’ll  rail  in  the  street  else. 

Iago.  Will  you  sup  there? 

Cas.  Yes,  I intend  so. 

Iago.  Well,  I may  chance  to  see  you;  for  I would  very 
fain  speak  with  you. 

25  Cas.  Pr’ythee,  come;  will  you? 

Iago.  Go  to;  say  no  more.  . [Exit  Lassio. 

Oth.  [Advancing.]  How  shall  I murder  him,  Iago? 

Iago.  Did  you  perceive  how  he  laughed  at  his  vice? 

Qth.  0 Iago! 

30  Iago.  And  did  you  see  the  handkerchief? 

Oth.  Was  that  mine? 

Iago.  Yours,  by  this  hand:  and  to  see  how  he  prizes  the 
foolish  woman  your  wife!  she  gave  it  him,  and  he  hath 
given  it  his  whore. 

35  Oth.  I would  have  him  nine  years  a-killing.  A fine  wo- 
man! a fair  woman!  a sweet  woman! 

Iago.  Nay,  you  must  forget  that.  . 

Oth.  Ay,  let  her  rot,  and  perish,  and  be  damned  to-night ; 
for  she  shall  not  live : no,  my  heart  is  turned  to  stone ; 

40  I strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my  hand.— 0,  the  world  hath 
not  a sweeter  creature : she  might  lie  by  an  emperor  s 
side,  and  command  him  tasks. 

Iago.  Nay,  that’s  not  your  way. 


Otfjeno. 


3 a g o.  $0?ein  ©eel* ! — ©ief),  ba  fommt  fie. 

SBiattca  tritt  auf. 

Safi.  QaZ  ift  eine  red)te  53ifamfa£e!  2Ba§  millft  bu  nur, 
5 baft  bu  mir  fo  nad)laufft? 

Bianca.  9ftag  bcr  Xeitfet  unb  feine  ©roftmutter  bir  nad)= 
laufen!  — 3&a3  t)aft  bu  mit  bem  £afd)entud)  Dor,  ba§  bu 
mir  jel^t  eben  gabft?  Qd)  mar  eine  red)te  Gavrin,  baji  i d) ’ *S 
natjrn/  3d)  foil  bie  gan^e  Arbeit  abjeidjiten?  9ied)t  main*' 

10  fd)einlid),  baft  bu’3  in  beinem  gimmer  follft  gefttnben  tjabeu 
nub  nid)t  miffen,  merr§  ba  lieft.  ift  ba3  ©ejd)enf  irgenb 
ei.ne§  ©d)a£d)en§,  unb  id)  foil  bte  Arbeit  ab^eid)ncn?  2)a, 
giebtr§  beinem  ©tedenbferbe:  looker  bur§  aud)  ftaft,  id)  merbe 
bie  ©tiderei  nid)t  ab^eidjneit. 

15  Saff.  ©till  bod),  nteine  jiifte  Bianca!  ftill  bod),  ftilU  — 

Dtf).  (Seifctte.)  53eim  §intmel,  ift  ba§  nid)t  mein  Xafdjentttd)? 

53ianca.  SSiUft  bu  l)eut9(benb  aunt  Sffen  fontnten,  fotfju’S; 
miltft  bu  nid)t,  fo  to  mm  ein  anbermal,  menu  bu  Suft  baft. 

3aao.  ©et)r  iftr  uad)!  get)7  \f)x  nacb!  [23iattca  ab. 

20  Saff.  3)a§  muf)  id)  moijl,  fouft  ^anft  fie  nod)  in  ber  ©trafte. 

3 ct go.  28iflft  bu  ^u  2tbenb  bei  iftr  effeu? 

Saff.  3d)  beute,  ja. 

3ago.  ^SieUeicftt  treff  id)  bid)  bort,  benn  id)  petite  in  ber 
Xbat  nottjmenbig  mit  bir  511  reben. 

25  Saff.  $8itt’  bid),  tomm!  SBittft  bu? 

3 ago.  ©ut,  nid)t§ mejr.  [Gaffio  ab. 

C)  t ft.  (bortretenb.)  28ie  ntorb?  id)  if)n?  3ago! 

3 ago.  23emerftet  it)rr3,  mie  er  ju  feiner  ©djanbtbat  laeftte? 

0t$.  0,  3ago! 

GO  3ago.  Unb  faftt  iftr  ba§  Xud)? 

£ t|.  28arT6  meine§  ? 

3 a go.  Sure§,  bei  biefer  §anb:  unb  feftt  nur,  mie  er  ba§ 
tftorid)te  SSeib,  eure  ©attin,  ad)tet ! ©ie  fcftenfte  e§  i^m  unb 
er  fdjentte  e§  feiner  £)irne. 

35  Dtt).  0!  bafe  id)  neun  3<$re  an  iljm  morben  fonnte.  — 
Sin  ftiibfcfteS  9®eib,  ein  fd)bne§  9®eib , ein  fiifte^  2Beib ! — 

3 ago.  $5a§  miiftt  iftr  je^t  Dergeffen. 

0tt).  9Tcag  fie  Derfauten  unb  Derberben  unb  jur^olte  fatjren 
^u  nad)t;  benn  fie  fott  nid)t  teben.  9tan,  mein  §erj  ift 

40  ^u  ©tein  gemorben;  id)  fcftXage  baran,  unb  bie  £>anb  fdjnterst 
mid).  0 bie  SBelt  befifct  tein  fiiftere§  ©efdmbf ; fie  ftdtte  an 
eine£  ®aifer§  ©eitc  rutjen  unb  iftnt  ©ttaoenbienfte  gebieten 

3 ago.  ^ein,  baran  ntiifct  it)r  nieftt  benten.  [tonnen. 

65 


9 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  Hang  her!  I do  but  say  what  she  is:  — so  delicate 
with  her  needle! — an  admirable  musician!  0,  she  will 
sing  the  savageness  out  of  a bear!  — of  so  high  and 
plenteous  wit  and  invention ! — 

5 Iago.  She’s  the  worse  for  all  this. 

Oth.  0,  a thousand,  thousand  times: — and  then,  of  so 
gentle  a condition! 

Iago.  Ay,  too  gentle. 

Oth.  Nay,  that’s  certain : — but  yet  the  pity  of  it,  Iago ! 
10  0 Iago,  the  pity  of  it,  Iago! 

Iago.  If  you  are  so  fond  over  her  iniquity,  give  her 
patent  to  offend ; for,  if  it  touch  not  you,  it  comes  near 
nobody. 

Oth.  I will  chop  her  into  messes:  — cuckold  me! 

15  Iago.  0,  ’tis  foul  in  her. 

Oth.  With  mine  officer! 

Iago.  That’s  fouler. 

Oth.  Get  me  some  poison,  Iago ; this  night : — I’ll  not  ex- 
postulate with  her,  lest  her  body  and  beauty  unprovide 
20  my  mind  again:  — this  night,  Iago. 

Iago.  Do  it  not  with  poison,  strangle  her  in  her  bed,  even 
the  bed  she  hath  contaminated. 

Oth.  Good,  good:  the  justice  of  it  pleases:  very  good. 
Iago.  And  for  Cassio,  let  me  be  his  undertaker:  you  shall 
25  hear  more  by  midnight. 

Oth.  Excellent  good.  [A  trumpet  within.]  What  trumpet 
is  that  same? 

Iago.  Something  from  Venice,  sure.  ’Tis  Lodovico 
Come  from  the  duke:  and,  see,  your  wife  is  with  him. 

Enter  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 

Lod.  Save  you,  worthy  general! 

Oth.  With  all  my  heart,  sir. 

Lod.  The  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  greet  you. 

£5  [ Gives  him  a letter. 

Oth.  I kiss  the  instrument  of  their  pleasures. 

[Opens  the  letter  and  reads . 
Des.  And  what’s  the  news,  good  cousin  Lodovico? 

Iago.  I am  very  glad  to  see  you,  signior; 

40  Welcome  to  Cyprus. 

Lod.  I thank  you.  How  does  Lieutenant  Cassio? 

Iago.  Lives,  sir. 

Des.  Cousin,  there’s  fall’n  between  him  and  my  lord 


Otljetto. 


£)tf).  ©ei  fie  oevbammt!  3$  fage  nur,  toa§  fie  ift:  — ©o 
gefd)idt  mil  ibrer  9?abel!  — ©ine  tounberioitrbige  £on= 
tiinftterin!  — 0!  fie  ioiirbe  bie  58itbbeit  eine§  25dren  ^abm 
fingen!  — $8on  fo  feinent,  Ijerrlidjetn  28ib,  fo  geiftreid)!  — 
5 Sago.  Hub  be§batb  fo  fd)Ummer. 

£)t{).  0 taufenb,  taufcnbmal!  — llnb  bann  Don  fo  boiber 
©efddigfeit ! — 

3 a go.  greitid)  ju  gefddtg!  — 

0tb-  3a,  ganj  getotfi:  aber,  toie  fd)abe  bennod),  3ago!  — 
10  0,  3^9° * tote  fd)abe,  Sago!  — 

3 ago.  28enn  ibr  Dertiebt  in  ibre  ©ihtben  feib,  fo  gebt  ibr 
einen  greibrief  %u  freDeln;  be nn  toenn’3  eud)  nid)t  ritbrt, 
ge^t  e§>  feinen  ettoa§  an. 

Dtt).  3d)  mil  fie  in  ©tilde  badett.  SJlir  §onter  aufie|en! — 
15  3ago.  0,  e§  ift  fdjdnblicb  Don  ibr. 

Dtt).  9ftit  metnent  lieutenant! 

3 ago.  $)a§  ift  nocb  fdjanblidjer. 

Dtb-  ©djaff  ntir  ©ift,  Sago;  biefe  9cad)t:  — 3<b  to  id  fie 
nicbt  gur  Diebe  fteIXeu,  bamit  ibre  ©eftalt  unb  ©d)onbeit 
20  ineinen  Qoxn  nicbt  toteber  entioaffnen.  3)iefe  9?ad)t,  3ago! 
Sago.  Shut  e§  nid)t  mit  ©ift;  erbroffelt  fie  in  ibrent  SBctt, 
bemfelben  95ett,  ba§  fie  entebrt  bat. 

Dtb.  ©at!  bic  ©ered)tigteit  barin  gefdlit  ntir.  ©ebr  gut! 

3 ago.  Unb  ©affio,  — * biefen  itbernebnt’  ict)  felbft; 

25  Um  9ttitternad)t  erfabrt  ibr  ntebr. 

[9Jl«u  fibi't  eine  £vomt)ete. 

Dtb-  SBorireffltdj ! — §ord)T,  toa£  melbet  bie  Strompete? 
Sago.  SRadjridjt  toobl  Don  $enebig;  ift  SoboDico, 

©efanbt  Dorn  ^ergog,  mit  ibnt  tonunt  eu’r  39etb. 

30 

Sobobico,  2)e§bentoua  unb  ©efolge  tretcn  auf. 

Sob.  |>eil,  toiirb'ger  ©enerat! 

0tb.  &in!ommenf  £)err! 

Sob.  ©ud)  griiftf  $enebig§  §er$og  unb  ©enat. 

35  [@r  u&ergiebt  ifjm  einett  SBricf. 

Dtb-  3cb  fiiffe  fetne§  28ttfen§  S)otument. 

[Cffuet  unb  tieft. 

£)e§b.  2Ba§  bringt  ibr  92eue§,  better  SoboOico? 

Sago.  ©3  freut  mid)  bbddidj,  end)  £U  feben,  ©ignor ! 

40  SBilifommen  bier  in  ©t)pern. 

Sob.  Sd)  banc'  end).  28a§  ntad)t  Sieutenant  ©ajfio,  §err? 
Sago,  ©r  lebt,  ©ignor. 

4)elb.  5D^ei n better!  er  ift  fcblimm  mit  nteinem  ©atten 
GO  9* 


OTHELLO. 


5 


10 


15 


20 


25 


SO 


35 


40 


An  unkind  breach : but  you  shall  make  all  well. 

Oth . Are  you  sure  of  that? 

Des . My  lord? 

Oth.  [reads!  “This  fail  you  not  to  do,  as  you  will — ” 
Lod.  He  did  not  call:  he’s  busy  in  the  paper. 

Is  there  division  ’twixt  my  lord  and  Cassio? 

Des.  A most  unhappy  one:  I would  do  much 
To  atone  them,  for  the  love  I bear  to  Cassio. 

Oth.  Fire  and  brimstone! 

Des.  My  lord  ? 

Oth.  Are  you  wise? 

Des.  What,  is  he  angry? 

Lod.  May  be  the  letter  mov’d  him; 

For,  as  I think,  they  do  command  him  home, 
Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 

Des.  Trust  me,  I am  glad  on  ’t. 

Oth.  Indeed ! 


Des.  My  lord  ? 

Oth.  I am  glad  to  see  you  mad. 

Des.  Why,  sweet  Othello, — 

Oth.  Devil!  [Striking  her. 

Des.  I have  not  deserv’d  this. 

Lod.  My  lord, 

This  would  not  be  believ’d  in  Venice, 
Though  I should  swear  I saw  ’t:  ’tis  very  much: 

Make  her  amends;  she  weeps. 

Oth.  0 devil,  devil! 

If  that  the  earth  could  teem  with  woman’s  tears, 

Each  drop  she  falls  would  prove  a crocodile. 

Out  of  my  sight! 

Des.  I will  not  stay  to  offend  you.  [Going. 

Lod.  Truly,  an  obedient  lady: — 

I do  beseech  your  lordship,  call  her  back. 

Ofh.  Mistress ! 

Des.  My  lord? 

Oth.  What  would  you  with  her,  sir? 

Lod.  Who,  I,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Ay;  you  did  wish  that  I would  make  her  turn: 

Sir,  she  can  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on, 

And  turn  again;  and  she  can  weep,  sir,  weep; 

And  she’s  obedient,  as  you  say, — obedient, — 

Very  obedient.  — Proceed  you  in  your  tears. — 
Concerning  this,  sir, — 0 well-painted  passion! — 


67 


Otljelto. 


15 


gevfallen;  bod)  ibr  toerbet  fie  Derfofjnen. 

£>tb-  ©ei b ibr  be§  fo  gemiji? 

$e§b.  me,  £>err? 

(lieft.)  > 2)ie§  ju Uodbringen faumt nid)t,  luenn  ibrmodt — 
r°  Sob.  (£r  rief  bidf)  nid)t;  ber  S3rief  befdjdftigt  ibn. 

3ft  eine  3embfd)aft  jmifdjen  beinent  $errn  unb  daffio  ? 

$)  e 3 lx  3a!  red)t  betrubte.  3$  gcibe  oiel  barunt, 

@ie  au3$ufbbnen,  benn  id)  liebe  (£affio. 

Dtb-  3euer  unb  ©djmefel! 

10  $)e3b.  §err! 

£tb-  ^3ift  bu  bei  ©imtett? 

3)e3b.  28ie?  §iirnft  bu? 

Sob.  '3  ift  ber  ^Brief,  ber  ibn  betoegt; 

$>enn,  lute  icb)  glaube,  ruft  man  ibn  priicf, 

Unb  (faffto  loirb  ftatt  feiner  ®out>erneur. 

3)e3b.  giirmabr ! 3)a3  freut  mid). 

Otb-  3n  ber  £$at? 

$e3b.  me,  Serr ? 

Otb-  W\d)  freuf3,  bidb  tod^u  fet/it. 

-°  ®e§b.  £),  mein  Otbelto!  — 

Dtt).  Xenfel ! [©d&iagt  fie. 

3)e3b.  $)a3  bob’  icb  nid)t  fcerbient. 

Sob.  §err  (General, 

3)a3  toitrbe  feiner  in  $enebig  gtauben 
Hnb  id)  and),  id)  fab'3.  2)a3  gefit  *u  welt. 

S3ittet  ibrr3  ah,  fie  toeint. 

O t b*  t £>,  Teufel!  fonnte 

^5)ie  (£rbe  fid)  t>on  28eibertbrdnen  fd)ft)dngern, 

2lu3  jebent  Sro^fen  nmd)f  ein  Urofobil;  — 

TOr  au3  ben  Eugeni 

JeSb.  3cb  gebr,  eucb  nicbt  ut  argent.  [mu  a*ge$en. 

Sob.  3n  3®abrbeit,  ein  geborfam  Seib!  — 

3d)  bittT  eud),  gnab’ger  ©err ! ruft  fie  &uriicf. 

Dtb-  3rau 

3)c3b.  5D^ein  ©emabt? 

pptf-  „ rnodt  ibr  mil  ibr,  fierr? 

Sob.  SSer?  td),  $err? 

Dtb-  Sffir  timnfdjtet  ja,  bob  fie  umfebren  ntbdjte: 

Umfebren  faun  fie  unb  bod)  t>ortt>art3  geb’n, 

Unb  mieber  breb’n:  unb  meinen  fann  fie,  mciuen,  — 

Unb  geborfam,  mie  ibr  fagt  — geborfam, 

3<i,  febr  geborfam.  3™iiier  fort  getoeint!  — 

3®a§  bte3  betrifft,  — o red)t  gefd)idt  im  £>eud)eln!  — 

67 


25 


30 


40 


OTHELLO. 


I am  commanded  home.  Get  you  away; 

I'll  send  for  you  anon.  Sir,  I obey  the  mandate, 

And  will  return  to  Venice.  Hence,  avaunt! 

[Exit  Desdemona. 

5 Cassio  shall  have  my  place.  And,  sir,  to-night 
I do  entreat  that  we  may  sup  together: 

You’re  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus. — Goats  and  monkeys! 

[Exit. 

Lod.  Is  this  the  noble  Moor  whom  our  full  senate 
10  Call  all-in-all  sufficient?  — Is  this  the  nature 

Whom  passion  could  not  shake?  whose  solid  virtue 
The  shot  of  accident,  nor  dart  of  chance, 

Could  neither  graze  nor  pierce? 

I ago.  He  is  much  chang’d. 

15  Lod.  Are  his  wits  safe?  is  he  not  light  of  brain? 

Iago.  He  ’s  that  he  is:  I may  not  breathe  my  censure. 
What  he  might  be;  if,  what  he  might,  he  is  not, 

I would  to  heaven  he  were! 

Lod.  What,  strike  his  wife! 

20  Iago.  PAitli,  that  was  not  so  well;  yet  would  I knew 
That  stroke  would  prove  the  worst! 

Lod.  Is  it  his  use? 

Or  did  the  letters  work  upon  his  blood, 

And  new-create  this  fault? 

25  Iago.  Alas,  alas! 

It  is  not  honesty  in  me  to  speak 

What  I have  seen  and  known.  You  shall  observe  him; 
And  his  own  courses  will  denote  him  so 
That  I may  save  my  speech : do  but  go  after, 

30  And  mark  how  he  continues. 

Lod.  I’m  sorry  that  I am  deceiv’d  in  him. 

[Exeunt. 


53 

Scene  II.  A Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Othello  and  Emilia. 

Oth.  You  have  seen  nothing  then? 

40  Emil.  Nor  ever  heard,  nor  ever  did  suspect. 

Oth.  Yes,  you  have  seen  Cassio  and  she  together. 
Emil.  But  then  I saw  no  harm,  and  then  I heard 
Each  syllable  that  breath  made  up  between  them. 
68 


DtTjcflo. 


3<4  Bin  juriicf  bent  fen.  — Get/  bu  fort: 

3d)  fdticfe  gleid)  itctd)  bir.  — Jperr,  bem  S3efe^l  geijord)’  id) 
Unb  fefjre  it  ad)  SSenebig.  — o vt ! — f)inau§!  — 

[®e§bemona  getjt  ab. 

5 Gajfio  befommt  mein  sdmt.  Unb,  £>err,  bent  2tbenb 
Grfud)7  id)  end)  mil  mir  §u  9?ad)t  fpeifen. 

SBiUfommett  bier  in  Gtjbent.  — gieqen  nnb  Hffen! 

[*6. 

Sob.  3ft  bie§  ber  ebte  ‘UJiobr,  ben  ber  ©enat 
10  ©ein  Gin§  nnb  5UIe§  nennt?  2)er  eble  Geift, 

®en  Seibenfdjaft  nid)t  regt,  be§  fefte  £ugenb 
®eiit  ^feit  be§  Qufalt^,  Vein  Gefcbofj  be§  GliicU? 

©treift  nnb  burd)bof)rt? 

^ago.  Gr  bat  fid)  febr  geanbert. 

15  Sob.  3ft  er  nid)t  mobt?  £mt  fein  SSerftanb  gelitten? 

3 ago.  (Sr  ift  fo,  mie  er  ift;  id)  barf  nid)t  fd)etten. 

Gott  geb7,  er  mare,  ma§  er  fonnte  fein; 

3etd  ift  er7§  nid)t. 

Sob.  3Sa§?  ©cine  gran  jn  fd)tagen! 

20  3a9°-  Gemifc,  bas  mar  nid)t  fein;  bod)  munfd)t7  id),  mar7 
£)er  ©cbtag  fein  argfte§  Xt)nn. 

Sob.  3fi  er  oft  fo? 

©agt,  ober  bat  ber  £Uief  fein  SBtut  ertji&t, 

2)a§  er  ficb  bent  mtr  fo  Merging? 

25  3 ago.  SM)  teibcr! 

9cid)t  mdr7§  gemiffenbaft  non  mir,  erjiiblt7  id), 

28a§  id)  erfuijr  nnb  fab-  £>abt  2(d)t  anf  ibn; 

©ein  eigner  SBanbet  mirb  ifjn  fo  be$eid)nen, 

$>afj  ibr  mein  SBort  entbebren  fount.  SBemerft  ib*t 
30  92ur  mcbr,  menn  ibr  mit  ibm  ^ufamrnen  feib. 

Sob.  G§  fcfjmer^t  mid),  bafe  id)  mid)  in  ibm  getdufdjt. 

[<Sie  gefjeit  aj. 


35 

-Bmcftc  JSjcitr.  Gin  an  here  § dimmer  anf  bent  ©d)toffe. 
£•  1 0 c { i o utib  SmiUa  treteit  anf. 

otb-  babt  ibv  nid)t§  gcfeb’tt? 

40  Gin  it.  Mud)  nie  gebbrt,  nod)  Mrgmobn  je  gefd)bf>ft. 

Otb-  3o,  bu  fabft  Gaffio  unb  fie  bcifammen. 

Gmil.  4)od)  fab  id)  bann  fein  llnred)t  unb  bann  bod  id) 
Sebmebe  ©itbe,  bie  gemed)jett  marb. 

80 


OTHELLO. 


Oth . What,  did  they  never  whisper? 

Emil.  Never,  my  lord. 

Oth.  Nor  send  you  out  o’  the  way? 

Emil.  Never. 

5 Oth.  To  fetch  her  fan,  her  gloves,  her  mask,  nor  nothing? 
Emil.  Never,  my  lord. 

Oth.  That’s  strange. 

Emil.  I durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest, 

Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake:  if  you  think  other, 

10  Remove  your  thought;  it  doth  abuse  your  bosom. 

If  any  wretch  have  put  this  in  your  head, 

Let  heaven  requite  it  with  the  serpent's  curse! 

For,  if  she  be  not  honest,  chaste,  and  true, 

There’s  no  man  happy;  the  purest  of  their  wives 
15  Is  foul  as  slander. 

Oth.  Bid  her  come  hither: — go. 

[Exit  Emilia. 

She  says  enough; — yet  she’s  a simple  bawd 
That  cannot  say  as  much.  This  is  a subtle  whore, 

20  A closet  lock  and  key  of  villanous  secrets : 

And  yet  she’ll  kneel  and  pray;  I’ve  seen  her  do’t. 

Enter  Desdemona  with  Emilia. 

Des . My  lord,  what  is  your  will? 

25  Oth . Pray,  chuck,  come  hither. 

Des.  What  is  your  pleasure? 

Oth.  Let  me  see  your  eyes; 

Look  in  my  face. 

Des . What  horrible  fancy’s  this? 

30  Oth.  [to  EmiliaJ  Some  of  your  function,  mistress ; 

Leave  procreants  alone,  and  shut  the  door; 

Cough,  or  cry  “hem,”  if  any  body  come: 

Your  mystery,  your  mystery;  nay,  dispatch. 

[Exit  Emilia. 

35  Des.  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  import? 

I understand  a fury  in  your  words, 

But  not  the  words. 

Oth.  Why,  what  art  thou? 

Des.  Your  wife,  my  lord;  your  true 

40  x\nd  loyal  wife. 

Oth.  Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself: 

Lest,  being  like  one  of  heaven,  the  devils  themselves 
Should  fear  to  seize  thee:  therefore  be  double-damn’d, — 

69 


Dtljetto. 


Dt^.  58a§?  fliifterten  fie  me? 

©mil.  -ftein,  gniib'ger  §err ! 

Ott).  Unb  fdjicfteu  nie  bid)  foil? 

© nt  i I.  SftiemalS. 

5 £tt).  Um  gather,  9fta$fe,  .£mnbfd)itl)  ifyr  p ^oiett? 

©mil.  9?ein,  gnab'ger  §err! 

Dtlj.  ’ ' ’§  ift  feltfam. 

©mil.  3d)  tuottf  auf  if)  re  Xugenb  meine  ©eele 
gum  ^faube  fe£en:  menu  ifjr  anber§  beitft, 

10  ©ebt  nid)t  bem  sftrgtool)n  fftaum,  ber  eud)  betfjbrt. 

98eun  bie§  ein  ©rijefm  eud)  in  ben  $opf  gefe^t, 

3)em  tofjn'£  ber  Jpinxmel  mit  bem  glut!)  ber  ©cfjlange! — 
$)enn  ift  nid)t  biefe  reblid),  leufd)  unb  treu, 

3ft  tein  9ft ann  gfiidlid),  ift  bie  reinfte  gran 
15  ©djtoarj  m ie  $erleumbuna. 

£)tf).  Saft  fie  fomnxen;  gef)M  — 

[©mtlia  gefjt. 

©ie  fagt  genug;  bod)  jebe  ftupplerin 
©r$af)It  baSfefbe.  ©d)fau  ift  biefe  9ftefce, 

20  ©in  f)etntlid)  ©d)lof3  unb  Dtiegef  fdjnober  ©iinben: 

3)od)  fniet  unb  betet  fie;  id)  fat)  e§  felbft ! — 

©mitia  uub  3)e§bemona  treteit  auf. 

3)e3b.  2Ba§  moltt  ifjr,  mein  ©entaljf? 

25  £)tf).  feomrn,  Xdubdjen,  fonun! 

$)e§b.  ift  eu'r  28unfd)? 

Dtb.  Safi  bir  in§  2luge  fefj'n; 

©d)au'  in3  ©eficbt  mir! 

S)e3b.  23eld)  fiird)terlidjer  ©iufalf! 

30  Dtt).  ;ftun  beine  Mnfte,  5Beib§bilb! 

£aft  33u^Xfcf)aft  nun  allein  unb  fd)liefjr  bie  £f)ur; 

£mft'  ober  rnfe  ^ent!  menu  jemanb  fonxmt: 

$>ein  ©anbmerf,  an  bein  §anbmerf!  9ftad)'  bid)  fort!  — 

[©milia  gefyt  ab. 

35  3)e3b.  3d)  fleX)e  fnieenb,  fag'  mir,  uxi§  bn  meinft? 

3)ein  SBort  Oerftefj'  id)  nid)t!  bod)  au§  bem  $Sort 
Xbnt  mitbe  gurie. 

Ctfj.  §a,  ma§  bift  bu? 

3)e§b.  $)ein  29eib,  mein  ©atte, 

40  ^Dein  bffid)tgetreue§  98eib. 

O t fj.  $omm,  fdjtt>or%  oerbamnt  bid)  felbft,  baf3  nid)t  bie  Xeufef, 
©ejd)retft  oon  beiner  ©ngefbifbung,  bittern, 

3)id)  p ergreifen:  brum  oerbamm'  bid)  bobpelt, 

69 


OTHELLO. 


Swear  thou  art  honest. 

Des.  Heaven  cloth  truly  know  it. 

Oth.  Heaven  truly  knows  that  thou  art  false  as  hell. 

Des.  To  whom,  my  lord?  with  whom?  how  am  I false? 

5 Oth.  Ah,  Desdemona!  away!  away!  away! 

Des.  Alas  the  heavy  day!  Why  do  you  weep? 

Am  I the  motive  of  these  tears,  my  lord? 

If  haply  you  my  father  do  suspect 
An  instrument  of  this  your  calling  back, 

10  Lay  not  your  blame  on  me:  if  you  have  lost  him, 

Why,  I have  lost  him  too. 

Oth.  Had  it  pleas’d  heaven 

To  try  me  with  affliction;  had  they  rain’d 
All  kinds  of  sores  and  shames  on  my  bare  head, 

13  Steep’d  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips, 

Given  to  captivity  me  and  my  utmost  hopes, 

I should  have  found  in  some  place  of  my  soul 
A drop  of  patience:  but,  alas,  to  make  me 
A fixed  figure  for  the  time  of  scorn 
20  To  point  his  slow  unmoving  finger  at, — 

0!  0! 

Yet  could  I bear  that  too;  well,  very  well: 

But  there,  where  I have  garner’d  up  my  heart, 

Where  either  I must  live,  or  bear  no  life; 

25  The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 

Or  else  dries  up;  to  be  discarded  thence! 

Or  keep  it  as  a cistern  for  foul  toads 

To  knot  and  gender  in!  Turn  thy  complexion  there, 

Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lipp’d  cherubin, — 

30  Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell! 

Des.  I hope  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

Oth.  0,  ay;  as  summer  flies  are  in  the  shambles, 

That  quicken  even  with  blowing.  0 thou  weed, 

Who  art  so  lovely  fair  and  smell’st  so  sweet, 

35  That  the  sense  aches  at  thee,  would  thou  hadst  ne’er 
been  born! 

Des.  Alas,  what  ignorant  sin  have  I committed? 

Oth.  Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 

Made  to  write  “whore”  upon?  What  committed! 

40  Committed!  0 thou  public  commoner! 

I should  make  very  forges  of  my  cheeks, 

That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty, 

Did  I but  speak  thy  deeds.  What  committed! 

70 


Dtfjelfo. 


©d)toi5r*,  bu  feifttreu. 

$>e£b.  3)er  ©irntnel  toeifj,  id)  bin^. 

Otb-  3)eu  §immet  tueifj:  fatfcf)  bift  bu  toie  bie  §ode. 

S)e3b.  28ent?  luein  ®emabl  ? mit  toent?  toie  bin  id)  falfd)? 

5 Ott).  O $>e§bentona!  £>intoeg,  ^iutueg!  — 

$)e§b.  O £ag  be§  Qammcrl!  — 2$efje!  to  a rum  ioeinft  bu? 
Sin  id),  mein  ^atte,  llrfad)*  beiner  Sbrdnen? 

£>aft  bu  oielteicbt  ben  Sater  in  Serbadjt, 
dr  fet  ba£  SBerffteitg  beiner  §eimberufung, 

10  ©ieb  mir  bie  ©d)ulo  nid)t.  ®aft  bu  iljn  oerloren, 

9htn,  id)  bertor  ibn  aud). 

Otb-  defiel  e$  ©ott, 

3)urd)  £ritbfal  mid)  ju  pritfen,  gofe  er  ©d)mad) 

Unb  jebe  ^rcinfung  auf  mein  na'cfteS  £mupt, 

15  Serfenft*  in  ^Crmut  mid)  bi§  an  bie  £ibben, 

©d)iug  famt  ber  lenten  ^offnung  mid)  in  geffeht, 

&od)  fdnbr  id)  toobl  in  einent  ^yer^euStoinfet 
(Sin  £rbbfd)en  non  ©ebulb.  2)od)  mid)  $u  mad)en 
gum  feften  Silbe  fur  bie  geit  be§  §obn§, 

20  9Jdt  tangfant  breb'nbem  ginger  brauf  %u  roeifen,  — 

O!  o'!  — 

Llnb  bie§  aud)  fount*  id)  tragen,  febr,  febr  mol)!: 

3)od)  ba,  too  id)  mein  ^er§  at§  ©djat)  t>ertoal)rt, 

$80  id)  mug  teben  ober  gar  nicbt  teben; 

25  3)er  Oluett,  au§  bem  mein  £eben  ftromen  tnuj3, 

©ouft  gan§  Oerfiegen  — ba  oertrieben  jein, 

Ober  it)n  fd)au*n  al§  ©umbf  fitr  efler  Uroten 
Segebr  unb  Sriiten,  — ba  oerfinft*re  bid), 

©ebittb,  bu  junger  rofentoangiger  CSb^rub  t 
30  ga,  fd)au*  fo  grintmig  at§  bie  .^>dtle ! 

3)e3b.  gd)  b°ffef  ntein  ©ematjl  l)d(t  mid)  fur  treu. 

Otb.  O fa,  toie  ©onunerftiegen  auf  ber  gteifdjbanf, 

3)ie  iut  (Sntfteb’n  fd)on  but)ten.  O bu  llnfraut, 

©0  rei^enb  tiebtid)  unb  Don  SDitft  fo  fitfj, 

35  S)af3  bit  ben  ©inn  bctdubft  — 0 toarft  bu  uic 
geboren!  — 

3)e§b.  SMd)*  unbetoujiten  gebl  fount*  id)  begeb'n? 

Otb-  £)ie§  reiue  Slatt,  bie§  fcbime  Sttd)  nur'baju, 

Urn  ^Beetle  b*rauf  $u  fdtreiben  ? 2£a§  begeb’n ! 

<!0  ' SegebTn?  O bu  gan^  frecfje  Sutler  in! 

©djmet^ofen  miifd*  id)  utad)en  au§  ben  Haugen, 
llnb  meine  ©ittfamfeit  p 2lfd)e  brennen, 

Sftennt*  id)  mu*  beine  Xljaten.  38a3  begeb'n? 

70 


OTHELLO. 


Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it,  and  the  moon  winks, 

The  bawdy  wind  that  kisses  all  it  meets 
Is  hush’d  witliii  the  hollow  mine  of  earth, 

And  will  not  hear  it. — What  committed! — 

5 Impudent  strumpet! 

Des.  By  heaven,  you  do  me  wrong. 

Oth.  Are  not  you  a strumpet? 

Des.  No,  as  I am  a Christian: 

If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord 
10  From  any  other  foul  unlawful  touch, 

Be  not  to  be  a strumpet,  I am  none. 

Oth.  What,  not  a whore? 

Des.  No,  as  I shall  be  sav’d. 

Oth.  Is  ’t  possible? 

15  Des.  0,  heaven  forgive  us! 

Oth.  I cry  you  mercy,  then: 

I took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice 

That  married  withOthello. — [Raising his  voice]  You,  mistress, 

That  have  the  office  opposite  to  Saint  Peter, 

20  And  keep  the  gate  of  hell! 

Re-enter  Emilia. 

You,  you,  ay,  you! 

We’ve  done  our  course;  there’s  money  for  your  pains: 
25  I pray  you,  turn  the  key  and  keep  our  counsel.  [Exit. 
Emil . Alas,  what  does  this  gentleman  conceive? 

How  do  you,  madam?  how  do  you,  my  good  lady? 

Des.  ’Faith,  half  asleep. 

Emil.  Good  madam,  what’s  the  matter  with  my  lord? 

30  Des.  With  who? 

Emil.  Why,  with  my  lord,  madam. 

Des.  Who  is  thy  lord? 

Emil.  He  that  is  yours,  sweet  lady. 

Des.  I have  none:  do  not  talk  to  me,  Emilia; 

35  I cannot  weep;  nor  answer  have  I none, 

But  what  should  go  by  water.  Pr’ythee,  to-niglit 
Lay  on  my  bed  my  wedding  sheets:  remember; 

And  call  thy  husband  hither. 

Emil.  Here’s  a change  indeed!  [Exit. 

40  Des.  ’Tis  meet  I should  be  us’d  so,  very  meet. 

How  have  I been  behaved,  that  he  might  stick 
The  small’st  opinion  on  my  least  misuse? 


71 


Otfjelto. 


10 


20 


25 


$ent  §immel  efett^  unb  berSflonb  toerbirgt  ftc^  : 

5)er  Rubier  SSinb,  be r fiiftt,  \va§>  ibm  begegnet, 

SSerfterft  fief)  in  ben  ^pobiungen  ber  (Srbe 
Unb  iDtll  nicl)t§  batooit  t)oren:  ma§  begeb'n? 

©djamlofe  SJtcbe! 

^e§b.  S3ei  ®ott,  if)r  ttiut  mir  unrecbt! 

Stft.  !eine  SKefce? 

^e§b.  9?ein,  fo  rnabr  id)  ©btiftin: 

SBemt  meinent  §errn  bemabren  bie§  ©efcift 
$or  jeber  fc^noben,  ftrdflidjen  S3erubrung, 

^eifet : feine  Sttetm  fein,  fo  bin  id)  feine. 

Otb-  $)u  feine  £mre? 

®e§b.  9Mn,  fo  belfe  ($ott  mir! 

Dtb.  Qft;§  mbglid)? 

®e§b.  € $immel,  fei  un§  gnabiq ! 

5)ann  toer^eibt  mir! 

3$  itabm  end)  fur  bie  2)irne  toon  $enebiq, 

3)ie  ben  Dt^ello  freite.  — 

Unb  bn,  SBeib, 

®ie  toon  @cmft  $eter  juft  ba§  ©egeuteil 

e m ilia  fommt  juntcf. 

3)er  ^ode  ^forten  ftoerrt!  bit,  bn,  ja  bu!  — 

SBir  finb  ju  (£nbe:  ntmin!  35  a ift  bein  ®efb! 

9cun  fdjliefe  bie  ££)ur  unb  §alte  reinen  2Jhmb!  to. 

©mil.  £ (Sott!  ma§  ba*  bocf)  unfer  §err  itn  @tnn? 

58ie  gebt’3  eud),  teure  grau?  SBie  gebt’3  eud),  ©nab’qe? 

n S ^ ICi.  a/S  J...  11 .it  ! X 


35e3b. 
(£  m i I. 
30  3)e§b. 
©mil. 
3)e§b. 
© tn  i I. 
3)  e§  b, 


Sftir  ift,  al§  trait  mf  id). 

©agt,  toerte  gran!  S8a§  fe^It  bem  gnab'gen  gerrn? 
SBern? 

Sfteinem  gnab’gett  ^>errn. 

SBer  ift  bein  £err? 

3)er  aud)  ber  eure,  liebfte  gnab’ge  ^ran. 

3d)  f)abe  feinen.  6ag’  mir  nidjtS,  ©inilia! 

3d)  fann  nid)t  meinen,  bob’  and)  feine  Sintmort, 

3)ie  nid)t  ^u  Staffer  miirbe.  8itf  bid),  biefe  gffodjt 
£eg’  auf  ntein  S3ett  mein  Srauttud)  — benfe  bran: 

Unb  rufr  mir  beinen  SKann. 

^mii.  SBie  bat  fidj’3  b^r  geanbert!  to. 

40  ®cSb.  § t)t  btflig,  baft  mir  fo  begegnet  mirb!  febr  bidtq! 
Stote  mar  id)  mtr,  baft  and)  fein  fleinfter  Sirqmobn 
SJtein  minbefte§  SBerfeb'n  miftbeuten  fonnte?* 


35 


71 


OTHELLO. 


Re-enter  Emilia  with  Iago. 

Iago.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam?  How  is’t  with  you? 
Bes.  I cannot  tell.  Those  that  do  teach  young  babes 
5 Do  it  with  gentle  means  and  easy  tasks: 

He  might  have  chid  me  so;  for,  in  good  faith, 

I am  a child  to  chiding. 

Iago.  What's  the  matter,  lady? 

Emil.  Alas,  Iago,  my  lord  hath  so  bewhored  her, 

10  Thrown  such  despite  and  heavy  terms  upon  her, 

As  true  hearts  cannot  bear. 

Bes.  Am  I that  name,  Iago? 

Iago.  What  name,  fair  lady? 

Bes.  Such  as  she  says  my  lord  did  say  I was. 

15  Emil.  He  call’d  her  whore:  a beggar  in  his  drink 
Could  not  have  laid  such  terms  upon  his  callat. 

Iago.  Why  did  he  so? 

Bes.  I do  not  know;  I’m  sure  I am  none  such. 

Iago.  Do  not  weep,  do  not  weep;  Alas  the  day! 

20  Emil.  Hath  she  forsook  so  many  noble  matches, 

Her  father  and  her  country  and  her  friends, 

To  be  call’d  whore?  would  it  not  make  one  weep? 

Bes.  It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 

Iago.  Beshrew  him  for’t! 

25  How  comes  this  trick  upon  him? 

Bes.  Nay,  heaven  doth  know. 

Emil.  I will  be  hang’d,  if  some  eternal  villain, 

Some  busy  and  insinuating  rogue, 

Some  cogging,  cozening  slave,  to  get  some  office, 

30  Have  not  devis’d  this  slander;  I’ll  be  hang’d  else. 

Iago.  Fie, 

There’s  no  such  man;  it  is  impossible. 

Bes.  If  any  such  there  be,  heaven  pardon  him! 

Emil.  A halter  pardon  him;  and  hell  gnaw  his  bones! 

35  Why  should  he  call  her  whore?  who  keeps  her  company? 
What  place?  what  time?  what  form?  what  likelihood? 
The  Moor  ’s  abus’d  by  some  most  villanous  knave, 

Some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  fellow. 

0 heaven,  that  such  companions  thou’dst  unfold, 

40  And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a whip 

To  lash  the  rascals  naked  through  the  world 
Even  from  the  east  to  the  west! 

Iago.  Speak  within  door. 


72 


Dtfjetfo. 


3 a g o ltnb  (S  m i li  a tretctt  auf. 

3a  go.  Sa§  mitnfd)t  il)r,  gnbb7ge  gmu?  mie  gef)t  e§  eud)? 

2) e3b.  Qd)  loeifi  e§  nid)t.  Ser  $inber  unterriajtet, 

5 ©icbt  iljnen  freunbltd)  leidjte  Arbeit  auf: 

6o  fount’  er  mid)  ja  fd)malen;  benu  fiirmafjr, 

3d)  bin  etn  ®inb  fitr§  0d)ntdlen. 

3a go.  Sa§  ift  benu,  gnab’ge  gran? 

©mil  s2ld),  3ago!  fd)impfte  fie  ber  §err. 

10  Sie  fd)anblid)  unb  berad)tenb  er  fie  nannte, 

3)a§  tragt  fein  treue§  §er(v 

3) e3b.  3ago,  &in  id)  ba§  Sort? 

3ago.  * Seldj7  Sort,  Sereljrte? 

$>e§b.  $>a§,  toie  fie  fagt,  mein  £)ert  mir  l)at  gegeben? 

15  ©mil.  ©r  fdjalt  fie  9Jtcbe;  nein,  fein  Settler  fonnte 
3m  Otaufd)  fold)7  Sort  bon  feiner  £)irne  braud)eit. 

3a go.  Sarunt  benn  ba§? — 

$)e§b.  3d)  toeifi  e3  nid)t;  genriji,  id)  bin  e§  nicbt. 

3ago.  0 meint  nid)t,  meint  nur  nid)t;  bu  liebe  geitl 
20  ©mil.  Sie§  fie  fo  mandjen  eblen  2lntrag  ab, 

Serliefj  ben  Sater,  greunbe,  Saterlanb/ 

S)af3  man  fie  ^fte^e  fd)impfe  ? 3ftr3  nid)t  $um  Seinen? 
$£)e§b.  $>a§  ift  ntein  traurig  6d)icffal. 

3 ago.  1 -ftun,  ©ott  beffr7  it)n! 

25  Sie  fontnit  il)m  fold)er  ©infall? 

5)  e § b.  Seiji  ber  §immel ! 

©mil.  9kin,  J)angt  mid),  menn  ein  ©r^berleumber  itid)t, 
3rgenb  ein  fet)meid)elnber,  gefd)dft7aer  6d)uft, 

©in  alatter  0d)itrF,  unt  fid)  ein  2lmt  $u  fifd)en, 

30  3)ie  Siigen  au3gebad)t;  fa,  barauf  fterb7  id). 

3 ago.  $fui,  fold)en  $?enfd)en  giebt7§  nic^t ; 7§  ift 
unmbglid). 

3)e3b.  Unb  giebt  e£  einenf  fo  bergeb7  iljm  ©ott! 

©mil.  ©in  0tricf  bergeb7  if)tn!  9^ag7  an  if)nt  bie  .g>otte ! 

35  Sie  5CRe^e  fdjimpfen!  — Ser  befud)t  fie  je? 

So?  Sann?  Unb  rcie?  — So  ift  aud)  nur  ein  0d)ein? 
©in  red)t  au§biinb7ger  0cf)urf7  belog  ben  90£ol)ren, 

©in  niebertrdd)t,ger  6dmrf7,  ein  fd)db7ger  Sube. 

0 |)immel!  D?bd)t7ft  bu  fold)7  ©ejiidjt  entlarben 
40  Unb  jeber  macfren  §anb  7ne  ©eifjel  geben, 

3)en  0d)urfen  nacft  burd)  alle  Selt  $it  peitfdjen, 

Som  Oft  jum  fernen  Seft! 

Sago.  0d)reit  bod)  nicl)t  fo  ! 

72 


OTHELLO. 


/ 


Emil . 0,  fie  upon  them!  Some  such  squire  he  was 

That  turn’d  your  wit  the  seamy  side  without, 

And  made  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  Moor. 

Iago . You  are  a fool;  go  to. 

5 Bcs.  0 good  Iago, 

What  shall  I do  to  win  my  lord  again? 

Good  friend,  go  to  him;  for,  by  this  light  of  heaven, 

I know  not  how  I lost  him.  Here  I kneel: 

If  e’er  my  will  did  trespass  ’gainst  his  love, 

10  Either  in  discourse  of  thought  or  actual  deed, 

Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense, 

Delighted  them  in  any  other  form; 

Or  that  I do  not  yet,  and  ever  did, 

And  ever  will — though  he  do  shake  me  off 
15  To  beggarly  divorcement — love  him  dearly, 

Comfort  forswear  me!  Unkindness  may  do  much; 

And  his  unkindness  may  defeat  my  life, 

But  never  taint  my  love.  I cannot  say  “whore,” — 

It  does  abhor  me  now  I speak  the  word; 

20  To  do  the  act  that  might  the  addition  earn 

Not  the  world’s  mass  of  vanity  could  make  me. 

Iago . I pray  you,  be  content;  ’tis  but  his  humour: 

The  business  of  the  state  does  him  offence, 

And  he  does  chide  with  you. 

25  Bes.  If  ’twere  no  other, — 

Iago . ’Tis  but  so,  I warrant. 

[ Trumpets  within. 

Hark,  how  these  instruments  summon  to  supper! 

The  messengers  of  Venice  stay  the  meat: 

30  Go  in,  and  weep  not;  all  things  shall  be  well. 

[Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Roderigo. 

How  now,  Boderigo! 

35  Rod.  I do  not  find  that  thou  dealest  justly  with  me. 

Iago.  What  in  the  contrary? 

Rod.  Every  day  thou  doff’st  me  with  some  device,  Iago ; 
and  rather,  (as  it  seems  to  me  now)  keep’st  from  me  all 
conveniency  than  suppliest  me  with  the  least  advantage 
40  of  hope.  I will,  indeed,  no  longer  endure  it;  nor  am  I 
yet  persuaded  to  put  up  in  peace  what  already  I have 
foolishly  suffered. 


78 


Dtfktto. 


©mil.  $fui  itber  Up!  — ©old)  ei n ®efelle  ttmr% 

2)er  ebeutal§  bit*  ben  SSerftanb  Dermirrte, 

9J?id)  mit  bent  9Kof)ren  in  $erbad)t  p bofon!  — 

3 a go.  $)u  btft  nidjt  Hug,  jet  ftitt ! 

5 ®e§b.  £>  guter  Qago! 

28a§  foil  id)  tbun,  ibn  toieber  p getuinnen?  — 

®eb?  p tbm,  greunb;  benn,  bei  ber  (Sonne  Sidjt, 

3d)  tueiji  nid)t,  tnie  id)  ibn  Derlor.  — §ier  fnieT  id):  — 
33enn  je  ntein  §er*  fid)  jeiner  fiieb’  etnborf 
10  Qn  Horten,  in  ©ebanfen  ober  X^at; 

2Benn  je  ntein  Slug,  ntein  £>br  nnb  jonjt  eitt  ©inn 
Sin  anbrer  SSoblgeftalt  (befallen  fanb; 

SBenn  id)  nicb)t  jejd  ilp  ltebr,  Up  ftetS  geliebt, 

3bn  tmnterbar  — and)  toettn  er  mid)  Derftiefee 
15  SU§  S3ettlerin  — Don  §erjen  tieben  rnerbe,  — 

$)ann,  Xroft,  Derlafj  mid)!  — Mtfimt  bring!  e§  toeit; 

Hub  rauben  faun  jein  ^altfinn  ntiv  ba§  fieben, 

$)odj  nie  bie  £iebe  minbern.  3d)  !nttn  nid)t  fagen:  $J?efce, 
Sfttr  fdjaubert  fd)on,  ba  id)  ba§  , SBort  gefprodjen; 

20  $od)  tt)un,  ma§  bie  $8efd)inipfuug  nadj  fid)  pbt  — 

9Hd)t  nut  bie  gan^e  ©itelfeit  ber  UBelt!  — 

3 a g o.  Qd)  bitte,  fafjt  eud) ; r3  ijt  nur  feme  £aune. 

$)ie  ©taat§gejd)dfte  madjen  Ujm  SSerbrufi; 

®a  pnft  er  nun  mit  eud). 

25  (De§b.  $Barr  e§  nur  ba§  — 

3 ago.  ®laubt  ntir,  e§  ijt  nid)t§  anbre§. 

[90?art  pvt  Xvompetcn 

£>ord)t,  bie  Srombete  ruft  pr  Slbenbtafel! 

Unb  bie  ®efaubtfd)aft  Don  SSenebig  martet; 
so  (M)t  bin  nnb  mein!  nid)t,  ade§  mirb  nod)  gut. 

[£e§bemoita  unb  (Sntitia  aD. 

OJobrigo  Iritt  auf. 

-28a§  giebt%  Cfcobrigo? 

35  Stob.  3d)  finbe  nid)t,  bafj  bn  e§  reb(id)  mit  ntir  nteinft. 
3ago.  llnb  ttmrunt  ba§  ©egenteil? 

9vob.  3e^en  Xag  fertigjt  bu  ntid)  mit  einer  Slu§rebe  ab 
3ago,  unb  bdltjt  mid)  Dielntebr  (tuie  mir’§  Dortommt)  Don 
ftHer  guten  (Megenbeit  fern,  at§  bafj  bu  meiner  .jpoffnung 
40  ben  geringjten  $8orteil  Derfd)affft.  3^)  ertrage  ba§  toabr- 
baftig  nicbt  longer,  unb  bit  fotCft  micb  nid)t  bap  bringen, 
rubig  einpfteden,  toa§  id)  bi§bet,  mie  eitt  Xbor,  mir  bobe 
gefadeit  tajjen. 


73 


10 


/ 


OTHELLO. 


logo.  Will  you  hear  me,  Roderigo? 

Rod.  ’Faith,  I have  heard  too  much,  for  your  words  and 
performances  are  no  kin  together. 

5 logo.  You  charge  me  most  unjustly. 

Rod.  With  nought  but  truth.  I have  wasted  myself  out 
of  my  means.  The  jewels  you  have  had  from  me  to  de- 
liver to  Desdemona  would  half  have  corrupted  a votarist : 
you  have  told  me  she  hath  received  them,  and  returned 
10  me  expectations  and  comforts  of  sudden  respect  and  ac- 
quaintance; but  I find  none. 

I ago.  Well;  go  to;  very  well. 

Rod.  Yery  well!  go  to!  I cannot  go  to,  man;  nor  ’tis  not 
very  well:  nay,  I think  it  is  scurvy,  and  begin  to  find 
15  myself  fobbed  in  it. 

I ago.  Yery  well. 

Rod.  I tell  you  ’tis  not  very  well.  I will  make  myself 
known  to  Desdemona:  if  she  will  return  me  my  jewels, 

I will  give  over  my  suit  and  repent  my  unlawful  solici- 
20  tation;  if  not,  assure  yourself  I will  seek  satisfaction 
of  you. 

Iago.  You  have  said  now. 

Rod.  Ay,  and  said  nothing  but  what  I protest  intendment 
of  doing.  t 

25  Iago.  Why,  now  I see  there’s  mettle  in  thee;  and  even 
from  this  instant  do  build  on  thee  a better  opinion  than 
ever  before.  Give  me  thy  hand,  Roderigo : thou  hast  taken 
against  me  a most  just  exception;  but  yet,  I protest,  I 
have  dealt  most  directly  in  thy  affair. 

30 

Rod . It  hath  not  appeared. 

Iago.  I grant,  indeed,  it  hath  not  appeared ; and  your  sus-  ] 
picion  is  not  without  wit  and  judgment.  But,  Roderigo,/ 
if  thou  hast  that  in  thee  indeed,  which  I have  greater 
35  reason  to  believe  now  than  ever, — I mean  purpose,! 
courage,  and  valour, — this  night  show  it:  if  thou  the 
next  night  following  enjoy  not  Desdemona,  take  me 
from  this  world  with  treachery  and  devise  engines  for 
my  life. 

40  Rod.  Well,  what  is  is?  is  it  within  reason  and  com- 
pass ? 

Iago.  Sir,  there  is  especial  commission  come  from  Yenice 
to  depute  Cassio  in  Othello’s  place. 

74 


Dtljello. 


3ago.  SBottt  igr  mid)  aitgbren,  sJiobrigo? 

9^ob.  5luf  (£gre,  id)  gabe  fcgon  ^u  Die!  gegbrt,  bemt  euer 
s$erfgred)en  unb  £gun  fatten  nid)t  gteidjen  6d)ritt  mit 
einanber. 

5 3 ago.  3gr  befdmtbigt  mid)  gocfyft  ungered)t! 

9i  o b.  iff  tauter  28agrgeit.  3d)  gabe  mein  gan^e§  $er- 
mbgen  ^itgefe^t.  ®ie  3uineten,  bie  igr  bon  mir  empfingt, 
um  fie  3)e3bemona  einpganbigen  — bie  |)dtfte  gatte  cine 
^oime  berfiigrt.  3g*  fagtet  wir,  fie  gabe  fie  angenommen, 
10  unb  gabt  mir  ^offnuna  unb  9tu§fid)t  auf  bolbige  ©unft 
unb  (Srmiberung,  aber  oabei  bteibf§. 

3 ago.  ©ut,  nur  rneiter,  red)t  gut! 

9tob.  9ied)t  gut,  meiter!  3d)  faun  nid)t  meiter,  greunb,  unb 
gier  ift  nicgt§  redjt  gut.  S3ei  biefer  ipanb,  id)  fage,  e§  ift 
15  fbibbiibifd),  unb  id)  fange  an  ju  merfert,  bag  manmidjfobbt. 

3 a g o.  9^ed)t  gut ! 

3£ob.  3d)  fage  bir,  e§  ift  nid)t  rcd)t  gut.  3d)  mitt  mid) 
S)e§bemona  felbft  entbeden;  giebt  fie  mir  meine  3utbeteu 
mieber  &urucf,  fo  laff7  id)  ab  bon  meiner  SBemcrbung  unb 
20  bereue  mein  unerlaubteS  gumuten;  mo  nid)t,  feib  gemig, 
bag  id)  ©enugtguung  bon  end)  forbern  merbe. 

3 ago.  £mbt  igr  je|t  gefgrodfen? 

9tob.  3a,  unb  gabe  nid)t§  gejprod)en,  at§  ma§  id)  ernfttidj 
§u  tgun  gefonnen  bin. 

25  3 ago.  @d)on!  9cun  fege  id)  bod),  bag  bu  $aare  auf  ben 
Batmen  gaft,  unb  feit  biefeni  foment  faffe  id)  eine  beffre 
9Jceinung  bon  bir,  al3  je  ^uoor.  ©ieb  mir  beine  §anb, 
9tobrigo,  bu  §aft  fegr  gegriinbete  (£inmenbungen  gegen^ntid) 
borgebracgt  unb  bennod),  fd)mbre  id)  bir,  bin  id)  in  bciuer 
30  ©acge  fet)r  grabe  ^u  SBerfe  gegangen. 

9tob.  $)a§  t)at  fid)  menig  ge^eigt. 

3 ago.  3d)  gebe  ju,  bag  fid)r§  nicgt  ge^eigt  gat,  unb  bein 
vtrgmogn  ift  nid)t  ogne  $erftanb  unb  Sdjarffimt.  2tbcr, 
9tobngo,  menu  ba§  mirtticg  in  bir  ftedt,  ma§  icg  bir  jefct 
35  megr  jutraue  at§  je,  — id)  meine  28itten§fraft,  Wait  unb 
§er^  fo  ^eigr  e§  biefe  9tad)t.  2Benn  bu  in  ber  nckgften 
9(acgt  nicgt  &u  fceSbetffonaS  $efig  getangft,  fo  fcgaff'  mid) 
gintertiftig  au§  ber  28elt  unb  fteffe  meiuem  fieben  3atl= 
ftricte. 

40  5R  ob.  ©ut,  ma§  iftr§  ? Siegt’3  im  ©ebiet  ber  SJemunft  unb 
ber  9flbgtic£)feit? 

3a go.  greunb,  e§  ift  ein  auSbriicflidjer  SSefegt  bon  Seuebia 
ba,  bag  (£a(fio  in  Ctgedo§  ©tette  treteu  fob. 

74  10* 


OTHELLO. 


Rod.  Is  that  true?  why,  then  Othello  and  Desdemona  re- 
turn again  to  Venice. 

I ago.  0,  no ; he  goes  into  Mauritania,  and  takes  away  with 
him  the  fair  Desdemona,  unless  his  abode  be  lingered 
5 here  by  some  accident:  wherein  none  can  be  so  deter- 
minate as  the  removing  of  Cassio. 

Rod.  How  do  you  mean,  removing  of  him? 

I ago.  Why,  by  making  him  uncapable  of  Othello’s  place 
10  knocking  out  his  brains. 

Rod.  And  that  you  would  have  me  to  do? 

Iago.  Ay,  if  you  dare  do  yourself  a profit  and  a right.  He 
sups  to-night  with  a harlotry,  and  thither  will  I go  to 
him: — he  knows  not  yet  of  his  honourable  fortune.  If 
15  you  will  watch  his  going  thence,  (which  I will  fashion 
to  fall  out  between  twelve  and  one),  you  may  take 
him  at  your  pleasure:  I will  be  near  to  second  your 
attempt,  and  he  shall  fall  between  us.  Come,  stand  not 
amazed  at  it,  but  go  along  with  me;  I will  show  you 
20  such  a necessity  in  his  death,  that  you  shall  think  your- 
self bound  to  put  it  on  him.  It  is  now  high  supper-time, ! 
and  the  night  grows  to  waste:  about  it. 


25  Rod.  I will  hear  further  reason  for  this. 

Iago.  And  you  shall  be  satisfied.  [Exeunt. 


20  Scene  III.  Another  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  Emilia, 
and  Attendants. 

Lod.  I do  beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  yourself  no  further. 

35  Oth.  0,  pardon  me;  ’twill  do  me  good  to  walk. 

Lod.  Madam,  good  night;  I humbly  thank  your  ladyship.; 
Des . Your  honour  is  most  welcome. 

Oth.  Will  you  walk,  sir? 

0, — Desdemona, — 

40  Des.  My  lord? 

Oth.  Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant;  I will  be  returned 
forthwith:  dismiss  your  attendant  there:  look ’t  be  done. 

[Exeunt  Othello,  Lodovico,  and  Attendants. 

75 


Otljeflo. 


Sftob.  3ft  fra§  trmbr?  9tun,  fo  getjen 0tt)etto  unb  3)e§betnona 
nad)  $enebig  prud. 

3 a go  0 item,  er  gef)t  in§  ^ftofjrenlanb  mtb  nitnmt  bie 
fcpbne  2)e§bemona  mit  fid),  menn  nid)t  fein  Wufent^att  bier 
5 burcb  cinen  3nfatt  tocrlftngcrt  mirb;  unb  barin  faun  nid)t§ 

jo  entjdjeibenb  fein,  al§  menn  (£affio  beifeite  gejd)afft 
mirb. 

9i  o b.  2Bie  tneinjt  bu  ba§  — tfjn  beifeite  jd)affert  ? 

3 a g o.  9htn,  ibn  fitr  0tbetto§  2ltnt  untauglici)  mad)en,  if)nt 
10  ba§  ®ebirn  au§fd)Iaqen. 

SRob.  Unb  ba§,  meinft  bn,  fott  id)  tbun? 

3a  go.  3a,  menn  bn  ba§  §er$  baft,  bir  $orteit  nnb  3ied)t 
gu  oerfd)affen.  (£r  ijt  fjeute  §nm  TOenbeffen  bet  einer 
£)irne  nnb  bort  mitt  id)  if)n  treffen;  nod)  meift  er  nid)t§ 
15  t»on  feiner  ebrentmtten  23efi3rberung.  $Benn  bu  nun  anf 

fein  SSegge^n  tauern  roittft  (nnb  id)  merbe  e§  einridften, 
baft  bie§  ^mijdjen  §motf  nnb  ein£  gefcftebe),  — jo  famtjt  bu 
nad)  beiner  $equemttd)feit  iiber  tt)n  berfatten;  id)  mitt  in 
ber  $al)e  fein,  nm  beinen  Slngriff  §u  unterftitften,  unb  er 
20  jott  jmifdjen  nn§  beiben  fatten.  $omm,  fteb?  nidft  jo  oer= 
munbert,  jonbern  fotge  ntir;  id)  mitt  bid)  jo  non  ber  9cot= 
menbigfeit  feine§  XobeS  itber^eitgen,  baft  bnr§  fiir  $fttd)t 
batten  jottft,  ibn  an§  ber  2Selt  ^u  fdjaffen.  (£§  ijt  b°be 
Qeit  ^um  Sttbenbeffen  nnb  bie  9cad)t  geftt  bin.  grijcftbaran! 
25  3ft  o b.  3d)  ntuft  nod)  mebr  (Minbe  bbren. 

3 ago.  2)a§  jottft  bn  jur  ©enitge.  [<3ie  ge^en  a&. 


30  Dritfe  Bjette.  SBorfaal  im  0dj  Ioffe. 

£>  1 1) e II o , 2 o b o t>  i c o , 2)e3bentona,  (5  m i I i a unb  © e f o t g e 
trcten  ctuf. 

Sob.  34  fnttt  end),  £)err,  bemii'bt  end)  nun  nid)t  meiter. 

35  0 1 b«  0 nein,  erlaubt,  ba§  ^luSgeb’n  tbut  mir  mobtt 
Sob.  (Sdftaft,  ©ncib'ge,  mobll  id)  fag’  end)  meinen  $)anf. 
§)e§b.  3br  mart  un§  febr  mittlontmen,  $err! 

0tb.  Gotten  mir  gebttt,  6ignor? 

-0  — $e§bemona!  — 

40  3)e§b.  SRcin  ©emabl? 

0t  b-  ©eft’  jogteid) . jn95ett,  ict)  merbe  augenblidlid)  mieber  ba 
fein.  ©ntlafje  beine  ®efettfdj  after  in;  t’bu’,  mie  id)  bir  jage. 

[Ottjelfo,  Sobobico  unb  ©cfotge  ab. 

75 


OTHELLO. 


Des.  I will,  my  lord. 

Emil.  How  goes  it  now?  he  looks  gentler  than  he  did, 
Des.  He  says  he  will  return  incontinent: 

He  hath  commanded  me  to  go  to  bed, 

5 And  bade  me  to  dismiss  you. 

Emil.  Dismiss  me ! 

Des.  It  was  his  bidding;  therefore,  good  Emilia, 

Give  me  my  nightly  wearing,  and  adieu: 

We  must  not  now  displease  him. 

10  Emil.  I would  you  had  never  seen  him! 

Des.  So  would  not  I:  my  love  doth  so  approve  him, 

That  even  his  stubbornness,  his  checks,  his  frowns, — 
Pr’ythee,  unpin  me, — have  grace  and  favour  in  them. 
Emil.  I’ve  laid  those  sheets  you  bade  me  on  the  bed. 

15  Des.  All’s  one.  Good  faith,  how  foolish  are  our  minds! 

If  I do  die  before  thee,  pr’ythee,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 

Emil.  Come,  come,  you  talk. 

Des.  My  mother  had  a maid  call’d  Barbara: 

20 

She  was  in  love;  and  he  she  lov’d  prov’d  mad, 

And  did  forsake  her:  she  had  a song  of  “ willow ;” 

An  old  thing  ’twas,  but  it  express’d  her  fortune, 

And  she  died  singing  it:  that  song  to-night 
25  Will  not  go  from  my  mind;  I’ve  much  to  do, 

But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 

And  sing  it  like  poor  Barbara,  Pr’ythee,  dispatch. 
Emil.  Shall  I go  fetch  your  night-gown? 

Des.  No,  unpin  me  here. 

30  This  Lodovico  is  a proper  man. 

Emil.  A very  handsome  man. 

Des.  He  speaks  well. 

Emil.  I know  a lady  in  Venice  would  have  walked  bare- 
foot to  Palestine  for  a touch  of  his  nether  lip. 

35 

Des.  The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a sycamore  tree , 

Sing  all  a green  willow;  [Singing. 

Her  hand  on  her  bosom , her  head  on  her  knee , 

Sing  willow,  willow , willow: 

4 o The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmur' d her  moans; 

Sing  willow , willow , willow; 

Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her , and  soften'd  the  stones;— 
Lay  by  these: — 


76 


Dtfjello. 


£)e§b.  £)a§  merb'  id),  mein  ©entabl. 

©nttl.  2Bie  gebtT§  nun?  (Sr  jd)ehtt  ntilber  al§  gubor. 

$)e§b.  ©r  fagt,  er  merbe  bier  fein  ungefdumt; 

©r  gab  mir  ben  SBefebl,  ;ju  S3ett  ju  geben, 

5 Unb  mir,  bid)  entlaffett. 

©mil.  9Jcid)  entlaffen? 

2) e3b.  ©r  mid  e§  alfo ; barum,  gute$  $inb, 

©ieb  mir  mein  9?ad)tgemanb  unb  lebe  mofjl! 

2Bir  bitrfen  ie|U  ibn  nid)t  erjiirnen. 

10  ©mil.  |)dttet  ibr  ibn  bod)  nie  gefeb'tt! 

3) e§b.  &a§  modi'  id)  nid)t:  mein  §er§  bdngt  fo  an  ibm, 
3)ab  felbft  fein  Qoxn,  fein  ^xot b fe*n  ©igenfimt  — 

$ontm,  fled'  mid)  lo§  — mir  lieb  unb  rei^enb  biinft. 

©mil.  ®ie  &itd)er  Iegtr  id)  auf,  mie  il)r’3  befal)lt. 

15  $>e§b.  '3  ift  ade3  ©in3.  — 9(c£) ! ma3  mir  tbbrid)t  finb!  — 
0terbT  id)  bar  bir,  fo  bittr  bid),  bulle  inid) 

Qn  eitt3  bon  biefen  Xiidfent. 

©mil.  $ommt;  ibr  fdjma^t ! 

2) e3b.  Wtim  Gutter  £;attr  ein  s$idbd)en,  — barbel  §k\) 

20  fie  — 

3)ie  mar  berliebt  unb  treulo3  marb  il)r  @d)ab 
Unb  lief  babon.  6ie  ^att’  ein  Sieb  bon  2Beibe, 

©in  alte3  $)ing,  bod)  bob*’  e3  fitr  ibr  fieib; 

6ie  ftarb,  inbern  fie'3  fang.  $)a§  £ieb  b^utr  9cad) t 
25  £ommt  mir  nid)t  au3  bent  6inn;  id)  bob'  $u  fd)affen, 

^ab  id)  nid)t  and)  ben  $obf  fo  bong'  unb  fittge 
2Bier3  arnte  barbel.  $8itt’  bid),  mad)’  gefcbmirib1 
©mil.  @od  id)  eu'r  9?ad)tfleib  bolen? 

3) e3b,  9Zein,  fted?  mid)  bier  nur  lo3.  — 
so  ^Der  Sobobico  ift  ein  feiner  Sftann. 

©mil.  ©in  red)t  bitbfdjer  SDtonn. 

3)e3b.  ©r  fbridjt  gut. 

©mil.  ;gd)  meib  eine  ^ome  in  $enebig,  bie  mare  barfitf) 
ttad)  ^alaftina  gegangen  unt  ein en  £)rud  bon  feiner  Untcr= 
35  libbe. 

^£)e§b.  (fingt)  3)a3  ■JJcdgblein  fab  ftngenb  am  geigenbaitm  fritf), 
8ingt  £Beibe,  gritne  2Beibe ! 

3)ie  £)anb  auf  bent  SBttfen,  ba3  $aubt  attf  bem  $nie, 
6iugt  $Bcibe,  2Beibe,  SBeibe! 

40  S)a3  ^ad)lein,  e3  murntelt  unb  ftimmet  mit  ein; 

8iitgt  9Beibe,  gritne  SBeibe! 

.§eib  rollt  ibr  bie  ^bmu'  unb  ermeicbt  ba§  ©eftein. 

9eg'  bie3  beifcite  — 

Tfi 


OTHELLO. 


Sing  willow,  willow,  willow ; [Singing. 

Pr’ythee,  hie  thee;  he’ll  come  anon: — 

Sing  all  a green  willow  must  be  my  garland.  [ Singing . 

Let  nobody  blame  him;  his  scorn  1 approve, — 

5 Na}r,  that’s  not  next. — Hark!  who  is’t  that  knocks? 

EmJ.  It’s  the  wind. 

Des.  1 calVd  my  love  false  love;  but  what  said  he  then? 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow:  [ Singing . 

if  i court  more  women,  you? II  couch  with  more  men. — 

10  So,  get  thee  gone;  good  night.  Mine  eyes  do  itch; 
Doth  that  bode  weeping? 

Emil.  ’Tis  neither  here  nor  there. 

Des.  I’ve  heard  it  said  so.  0,  these  men,  these  men! 
Dost  thou  in  conscience  think, — tell  me,  Emilia — 

15  That  there  he  women  do  abuse  their  husbands 
In  such  gross  kind? 

Emil.  There  he  some  such,  no  question. 

Des.  Wouldst  thou  do  such  a deed  for  all  the  world? 

Emil.  Why,  would  not  you? 

20  Des.  No,  by  this  heavenly  light! 

Emil.  Nor  I neither  by  this  heavenly  light;  I might  do't 
as  well  i’  the  dark. 

Des.  Wouldst  thou  do  such  a deed  for  all  the  world? 

Emil.  The  world’s  a huge  thing: 

25  It  is  a great  price 

For  a small  vice. 

Des.  In  troth,  I think  thou  wouldst  not. 

Emil.  In  troth,  I think  I should;  and  undo ’t  when  I had 
done.  Marry,  I would  not  do  such  a thing  for  a joint- 
30  ring,  nor  for  measures  of  lawn,  nor  for  gowns,  petticoats, 
nor  caps,  nor  any  petty  exhibition;  but,  for  the  whole 
world,— why,  who  would  not  make  her  husband  a 
cuckold  to  make  him  a monarch?  I should  venture 
purgatory  for  ’t’ 

35  Des.  Deshrew  me,  if  I would  do  such  a wrong 
For  the  whole  world. 

Emil.  Why,  the  wrong  is  but  a wrong  i’  the  world;  and 
having  the  world  for  your  labour,  ’tis  a wrong  in  your 
own  world,  and  you  might  quickly  make  it  right. 

40 

Des.  I do  not  think  there  is  any  such  woman. 

Emil.  Yes,  a dozen ; and  as  many  to  the  vantage  as  would 
store  the  world  they  played  for. 


0tf)c(To. 


(fttigt)  (Singt  2Beibe,  2Beibe,  SSeibe ! 

SBitt’  bid),  mud)T  fd)ned!  er  lommt  fogleidy  — 

(fingt)  $on  SSeiben  ad’  flecf)tr  id)  mir  mm  ben  Man  3 — 

0 fd^eltet  ibn  nid)t,  fein  gorn  ift  mir  red)t,  — 

5 SRein,  ba§  fomrnt  fpciter,  — ^ord)!  mer  flobft  ba?  — 

(5 mil.  ©§  ift  ber  3Binb. 

3)e£b.  (fingt)  gd)  nannt’  ibn  bu  galfdjer!  ma§  fagt’  er  ba^u? 
@ingt  SBeibe,  grime  SBeibe! 

6eb’  id)  nad)  ben  9Mbeln,  nad)  ben  25uben  fiel)ft  bu. 

10  @o  geb’  nun  fort;  aute  $Rad)t!  $Rein  2luge  judt; 

SBebeutet  ba£  mobl  Bremen? 

(5 mil.  ©i,  uiit  nidjtenl 

3)e§b.  gd)  ^orf  e§  fo.  — 5)ie  banner,  o bie  banner  I 
©laubft  bu,  auf  bein  ©emiffen  fprid),  Emilia, 

15  £)af)  mirllid)  SBeiber  finb,  bie  ibre  banner 

@o  groblid)  tciufd)en? 

©mil  6old)e  giebt%  !ein  gtneifel! 

(S)e3b.  Xbat’ft  bu  bergleic^en  um  bie  ganje  SBelt? 

©mil.  9Zun,  tptet  itjr’S  nid)t? 

CO  $)e§b.  Sftein,  beint  £id)t  be§  |>immet§!  — 

©mil.  gd)  tt)df  e§  aud)  nid)t  be i be§  §intmel§  £id)t, 
gd)  tbnnf  e§  ja  im  $>unfeln. 

3)e§b.  Xpt’ft  bu  bergleid)en  um  bie  gan^e  2Bett?  — 

©mil.  3)ie  2Belt  ift  mad)tig  meit: 

C5  £)er  Soljn  mar’  qroft, 

Mein  ber  $8erfto|. 

2)e£b.  ©emif),  bu  tbjat’ft  e§  nid)t! — 

©mil.  ©emi|,  id)  ttjate  e3,  unb  mad)te  e§  mieber  ungetban, 
menn  id)T§  getban  butte.  9htr  freilid)  tbdte  id)  fo'etma§ 
so  nid)t  fiir  einen  gingerring,  nod)  fiir  eintge  ©den  23atift, 
nod)  fiir  Mantel,  fftoefe  unb  Sauben,  ober  folcben  arm- 
fcl’gen  ©ram;  a ber  fiir  bie  gan^e  2Belt,  — ei,  mer  butte  bu 
nidjt  Suft,  bem  Jeanne  §i3rner  aufjufeben  unb  ibn  ^um 
2Beltfaifer  $u  mud)en?  S)afiir  magte  id)  ba§  gegefeuer! 

35  3)e3b.  gd)  mid  be§  £o be3  fein,  ti)dt’  id)  fold)'  Unred)t 
5lud)  um  bie  gun^e  2Belt. 

©mil.  ©i  nun,  bu§  Unredbt  ift  bod)  nur  ein  Unred)t  in  ber 
2Belt,  unb  menn  end)  biefeelt  fiir  eure  Sdtiibe  ^uXeilmiro, 
fo  ift’§  ein  Unrest  in  eurer  eig’nen  2Belt.  gbr  lonnf  eS 
40  gefdjminb  §u  9led)t  ntud)en. 

!De§b.  gd)  gluube  bod),  e§  giebt  fein  fold)e§  2Beib. 

©mil.  ©i,  $ebn  fiir  ein§  unb  nod)  fo  diel  in  Mtuf, 

£)ie  2Belt,  um  bie  fie  fpielten,  gleid)  $u  fiiden. 

77 


OTHELLO. 


/ 


But  I do  think  it  is  their  husbands’  faults 
If  wives  do  fall:  say  that  they  slack  their  dutie 
And  pour  our  treasures  into  foreign  laps, 

Or  else  break  out  in  peevish  jealousies, 

5 Throwing  restraint  upon  us;  or  say  they  strike  us, 

Or  scant  our  former  having  in  despite; 

Why,  we  have  galls;  and  though  we  have  some  grace, 
Yet  have  we  some  revenge.  Let  husbands  know 
Their  wives  have  sense  like  them:  they  see,  and  smell, 
10  And  have  their  palates  both  for  sweet  and  sour, 

As  husbands  have.  What  is  it  that  they  do 
When  they  change  us  for  others?  Is  it  sport? 

I think  it  is:  and  doth  affection  breed  it? 

I think  it  doth:  is  ’t  frailty  that  thus  errs? 

15  It  is  so  too: — and  have  not  we  affections, 

Desires  for  sport,  and  frailty,  as  men  have? 

Then  let  them  use  us  well:  else  let  them  know, 

The  ills  we  do,  their  ills  instruct  us  so. 

Des.  Good  night,  good  night:  heaven  me  such  uses 
20  send, 

Not  to  pick  bad  from  bad,  but  by  bad  mend! 

[. Exeunt . 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.  Cyprus.  A Street . 

3b  Enter  I ago  and  Koderigo. 

Iago.  Here,  stand  behind  this  bulk;  straight  will  he  come: 
Wear  thy  good  rapier  bare,  and  put  it  home: 

Quick,  quick;  fear  nothing;  I’ll  be  at  thy  elbow: 

35  It  makes  us,  or  it  mars  us;  think  on  that< 

And  fix  most  firm  thy  resolution. 

Rod.  Be  near  at  hand;  I may  miscarry  in  ’t. 

Iago.  Here,  at  thy  hand:  be  bold,  and  take  thy  stiind. 

[Retires  to  a little  distance. 
40  Rod.  I have  no  great  devotion  to  the  deed; 

And  yet  he  hath  given  me  satisfying  reasons: 

’Tis  but  a man  gone.  Forth,  my  sword;  he  dies. 

[ Goes  to  his  stand. 


78 


Citfjetta 


9lttein  mid)  bitnlt:  e$  ift  ber  banner  ©djufb, 

$)aft  SBeiber  fatten.  28enn  fie  £ffid)tttergeffen 
Qn  frembem  @djof$  ttergeuben  unfern  ©d)aj3 ; 

2Bemt  fie,  nerfeljrt  in  faun7fd)er  ©tferfudjt, 

5 ?(n§  ^au§  un§  feffeltt,  menu  fie  gar  un§  }d)fagen, 

2Benn  fie  in  Seicfttfimt  unfer  ©ut  oertf)un: 

$>amt  fd)mittt  and)  un§  bie  ©atte;  mir  finb  fromm, 

$)od)  nid)t  non  0^ad)fuc^t  fret.  ©ie  fotteit7^  miffeit, 

2Sir  fjaben  ©inne  attd),  mir  fef)7it  unb  riedjen, 

10  Itnb  fjabett  einen  ©aunt  fitr  fiifj  nnb  fjerbe, 
s28ie  unfre  banner.  Sa§  be^meden  fie, 

2Senn  fie  uit§  anb7re  nor«jief)7n?  3ft  ^ Suft? 

3d)  benfe,  fa;  treibt  fie  bie  £eibenjd)aft? 

3d)  bntfe,  ja;  ift73  ©djmadjfjeit,  bie  fie  tf)brt?  — 

15  ©emifj;  unb  f)aben  mir  nid)t  Seibenfdjaft, 

9Ud)t  |>ang  $ur  Suft  unb  ©d)mad)f)eit  gleid)  ben  9J?annern? 
2) runt : menu  ber  SLRamt  fid)  treu!o§  bon  un3  fefjrte, 

2Bar73  feme  23o§Ijeit,  bie  un§  $3bfe§  lebjrte. 

^)e§b.  ©ut7  SRadjt!  — Unb  lafe  mid),  £err,  in  frentben 
20  ©itnbett 

3^cid)t  eig?ne  ©itnbe,  lafc  mid)  Seffrung  finben! 

[<Sie  geljcit  ab. 


25 


gitnfter  Slufjug. 

®r|le  Sjcnc.  (Stjperu.  Strode. 

Sago  mtb  o b r i g o tveten  auf. 

3 ago.  |)ier  ftel)r  am  Pfeifer;  gleid)  mirb  ©affio  fontmen: 
|mft7  beine  ®linge  fttanf  unb  fiifyr7  fie  gut. 

§rifd),  feigetroff;  id)  ftef)7  bir  naf)7  jur^anb; 

S5  5)ie§  fjebt  un§  ober  ftitr^t  un§,  barau  benfe, 

Unb  bfeibe  feft  unb  ftanofjaft  beint  ©ntfdjlujj. 
fRob.  ©o  ftef)7  f)ier  naf)7,  e$  fbnnte  mir  mifjlingen. 

3ago.  §ier  neben  bir;  fei  fitf)n  unb  nimm7  bei'n  ©djmert. 

. tBie^t  fief)  iuviieC. 

40  fRob.  34  t»in  nicf)t  fefjr  int  ©ifer  fur  bie  £f)at, 

Unb  bod)  finb7§  triffge  ©ritnbe,  bie  er  gab. 

©in  9Ramt,  — ma§  iiegt  bran?  — ®omm,  mein  ©d)tnert! 

©t*  fterbe ! ' [Xritt  beifeite. 


78 


OTHELLO. 


lago.  I’ve  rubb’d  this  young  quat  almost  to  the  sense, 
And  he  grows  angry.  Now,  whether  he  kill  Cassio, 
Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other, 

Every  way  makes  my  gain:  live  Roderigo, 

5 He  calls  me  to  a restitution  large 

Of  gold  and  jewels  that  I bobb’d  from  him, 

As  gifts  to  Desdemona; 

It  must  not  be:  if  Cassio  do  remain, 

He  hath  a daily  beauty  in  his  life 
10  That  makes  me  ugly;  and,  besides,  the  Moor 

May  unfold  me  to  him;  there  stand  I in  much  peril: 
No,  he  must  die: — be  ’t  so:  I hear  him  coming. 

Enter  Cassio. 


15  Rod . I know  his  gait,  Tis  he. — Villain,  thou  diest! 

[Rushes  from  his  post,  and  makes  a pass  at  Cassio. 
Cas.  That  thrust  had  been  mine  enemy  indeed, 

But  that  my  coat  is  better  than  thou  know’st: 

I will  make  proof  of  thine.  [Draws,  and  wounds  Roderigo. 
20  Rod.  0,  I am  slain! 

[Iago  rushes  from  his  post,  cuts  Cassio  behind  in 
the  leg,  and  exit. 

Cas.  I’m  maim’d  for  ever. — Help,  ho!  murder!  murder! 

[Falls. 

95 

w Enter  Othello,  at  some  distance.  / 

Oth.  The  voice  of  Cassio: — Iago  keeps  his  word. 

Rod.  0,  villain  that  I am! 

Oth.  It  is  even  so. 

30  Cas.  0,  help,  ho!  light!  a surgeon! 

Oth.  ’Tis  he: — 0 brave  Iago,  honest  and  just, 

That  hast  such  noble  sense  of  thy  friend’s  wrong! 

Thou  teachest  me.  Minion,  your  dear  lies  dead, 

And  your  unblest  fate  hies:  strumpet,  I come! 

35  Forth  of  my  heart  those  charms,  thine  eyes,  are  blotted; 
Thy  bed  lust-stain’d,  shall  with  lust’s  blood  be  spotted. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Lodovico  and  Gratiano,  at  some  distance. 


40  Cas.  What,  ho!  no  watch?  no  passage?  murder!  murder! 
Gra.  ’Tis  some  mischance;  the  cry  is  very  direful. 

Cas.  0,  help ! 

Lod.  Hark ! 


79 


Ctijctfo. 


Qago.  Qdj  tieb  bie  junge  $3eule,  bi§  fie  brennt, 

$ftun  mad)t  er  ©rnft.  Sefct,  ob  er  ©affio  ntorbet, 

0b  ©affio  i^rt,  — ob  fie  fid)  beibe  ntorben, 
dftir  ift  ba§  gleid)  gelegen.  Sebt  Oftobrigo, 

5 (So  bring!  er  auf  ben  nodigen  ©rfaj* 

©)e§  (Mb§  unb  ©djntucf§,  um  bie  id)  il)n  gepredt 
gitr  &e§bemona; 

$>a§  barf  nid)t  fein.  SSemt  ©affio  iibrig  bleibt, 

©o  jeigt  fein  Seben  taglicf)  eine  ©djonfjeit, 

10  3)ie  mid)  t>crC)d^Iid)t;  unb  ber  9Jiol)r  aud)  mod)te 
Oftid)  iljm  nerraten;  ba§  mar’  fejjr  bebeuflidj. 

Sftein,  nein,  er  fterbe!  — ©fid,  id)  t)or?  U)tt  fommen. 

Gaffio  tritt  auf. 

15  01  o b.  ©§  ift  fein  ©ang,  er  tomnxt.  — ©o  ftirb',  bn  ©cb)itrf r ! 

[*@r  lauft  auf  (Saffio  311  unb  bernmnbet  i On. 

©af.  3)er  2)egenftod  toar  feinblid)  ntir  gemeint, 

©)od)  ift  mein  Oiocf  ftid)feiter  at§  bu  glaubft; 

9?UU  britf  id)  beinen.  [©iefedjten;  (£affio  berton  ttbet  ben  3ft  ob  rig  0. 
£0  01  ob.  2Bet)?;  id)  bin  be§  £obe§. 

Sago  ftidft  bem  6 a ffio  oon  f)inten  in§  93ein 
unb  geljt  ab. 

©af.  (Matintt  auf  intmer!  §idfe!  SCRbrber!  dftbrber! 

25  Dtfjello  jeigt  fid)  oben. 

0tt).  ift  ©affioT§  ©timme;  $ago  ^)dlt  fein  SBort! 

Oiob.  0 id)  $errud)ter! 

0tt).  £)ord)!  — Qa  tool)!,  fo  iff  3. 

30  ©af.  0 £mlfe!  Sid)t!  ein  2Bunbar$t!  — 

0 tli.  ©r  iff  3 1 0 ttmcfret  $ago,  bran  unb  treu! 

3)er  bu  fo  ebel  fidjift  be§  $reunbe3  ©d)tnad) ! 

$u  le^rft  mid):  $itpbd)en,  bein  ©eliebter  ftelr 
Unb  beine  ©tnnbe  nat)t.  3>d)  fomme,  lintel 
35  $)ein  03Iid,  bein  Oiei§  fod  mir  im  §er^en  fterben, 

3)ein  fiinbig  OSett  ba§  S3lut  ber  ©iinbe  farbett!  — 

[@r  gel)t  ab. 

Sobobieo  unb  ©ratiano  tretert  in  eiitiger  ©ntferuung  auf. 

40  ©af.  ®ein  3Bdcf)ter  ba!  $ommt  niemanb?  ^iilfe ! ORorbl 
©rat.  ©in  Ungliid  gan$  gennji,  ber  ©rfjrei  mar  furd)tbar. 
©af.  0§iilfe! 

Sob.  £>ordj ! 


79 


OTHELLO. 


Rod.  0 wretched  villain! 

Lod.  Two  or  three  groan: — it  is  a heavy  night: 

These  may  he  counterfeits:  let’s  think’t  unsafe 
To  come  in  to  the  cry  without  more  help. 

5 Rod.  Nobody  come?  then  shall  I bleed  to  death. 

Lod.  Hark ! 

Gra.  Here’s  one  comes  in  his  shirt,  with  light  and  weapons. 


Re-enter  Iago,  with  a light. 


10 


15 


20 


25 


SO 


35 


40 


Iago.  Who’s  there?  whose  noise  is  this  that  cries  on  murder? 
I.od.  We  do  not  know. 

Iago.  Did  not  you  hear  a cry? 

Cas.  Here,  here!  for  heaven’s  sake,  help  me! 

Iago.  What’s  the  matter? 

Gra.  This  is  Othello’s  ancient,  as  I take  it. 

Lod.  The  same  indeed;  a very  valiant  fellow. 

Iago.  What  are  you  here  that  cry  so  grievously? 

Cas.  Iago?  0,  I’m  spoil’d,  undone  by  villains! 

Give  me  some  help. 

Iago.  0 me,  lieutenant!  what  villains  have  done  this? 
Cas.  I think  that  one  of  them  is  hereabout, 

And  cannot  make  away. 

Iago.  0 treacherous  villains! 

[To  Lodovico  and  Grattano. 
What  are  you  there?  come  in,  and  give  some  help. 

Rod.  0,  help  me  here! 

Cas.  That’s  one  of  them. 

Iago.  0 murderous  slave!  0 villain! 

[Stabs  Roderigo. 

Rod.  0 damn’d  Iago!  0 inhuman  dog! 

Iago.  Kill  men  i7  the  dark! — Where  be  these  bloody 
thieves? — 

How  silent  is  this  town! — Ho!  murder!  murder! — 

What  may  you  be?  are  you  of  good  or  evil? 

Lod.  As  you  shall  prove  us,  praise  us. 

Iago.  Signior  Lodovico  ? 

Lod.  He,  sir. 

Iago.  I cry  you  mercy.  Here’s  Cassio  hur  by  vil- 
lains. 

Gra.  Cassio ! 

Iago.  How  is’t,  brother? 

Cas.  My  leg  is  cut  in  two. 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid 


80 


Dtfjeffo. 


9iob.  0,  uiebertrddjt’ger  ©ube!  — 

Sob.  3toei=,  bretmd  |brf  id)  cid)£en.  ©raufe  9ftadjt! 

3)a§  fantt  ©erftettung  fein ; id)  f)alf § nid)t  fid)er, 
3)ent©d)rei  §u  folgen,  ef)r  un3  SBeiftanb  toirb. 

5 9ft  ob.  ,#onxmt  uientanb  ? ©o  tnufj  id)  $u  £obe  bluten. 

S o b.  £>ordj ! 

©rat.  ©in  9Jtanu  bier  ot)ne  2Banx§  nxit  Sid)t  unb  $)egen. 

So 90  fomtnt  mit  etrtem  £icf)te. 

10  3 ago.  3Ber  ba?  2Ba§  fur  ein  Sarm?  2Ber  rief  f)ier  9ttorb? 
Sob.  3Bir  toiffen'3  nid)t. 

^ ago.  £)abt  % nid)t  fdjrei’n  gefjbrt? 

©af.  §ier,  fyier!  unt  ©otte^toifleu, 

3 ago.  2Ba§  giebf§? 

15  ©rat.  3)a3  ift  £>ttjetto§  gatjubrid),  tuie  id)  glaube. 

Sob.  ©ans  red)t,  er  iftJ§ ; ein  fetjr  be^er^ter  9Q?ann. 

3a  go.  2Ber  feib  it)i’  ba,  ber  fo  erbarmlid)  ruft? 

©af.  3ago  ? ©on  ©d)urfen  tbtlid)  t)ier  getcUjmt — 

$d),  fdjaff  mir  §iitfe!  — 

20  3ago.  Urn  ©ott!  ©agt,  Sieutenant,  toetd)e  ©uben  tf)atenr§? 
©af.  $)er  eine,  benf  id),  tiegt  t)ier  in  ber  9?cit)e 
Unb  !ann  nid)t  fort. 

3a go.  £)  bie  argtift’gen  ©d)urfen! 

C8u  Sobouico  unb  ©rotiano.)  2Ber  feib  il)r  ba  ? $onxntt  bod) 
25  ^eran  unb  t)elft! 

91  ob.  0,  ^elft  ntir  t)ier! 

©af.  $>er  toar  babei. 

3 a go.  0 ©d)xxrfM  0 9Dftextd)eIntbrber! 

[So go  erftid)t  ben  Dtobrigo. 

30  9ft  ob.  ^erbammter  3ogo ! ©luttjunb!  0 ! o!  o! 

3a go.  3w  2)unfeln  xnorben!  2Bo  finb  bie  Mufgen 
®iebe? 

©Me  ftitt  finb  biefe  ©trafeen!  9)?orb!  ?Oftorb  1 9Jcorb ! 

©kr  feib  benn  tf)r?  ©d)(inunT  ober  ©ute? 

35  Sob.  9ftiif)mt  un§,  toie  i|r  un£  finbet. 

3 ago.  ©ignor  Sobobico? 

Sob.  3a,  §err! 

3a go.  ©erjeibung;  fykx  liegt  ©affio,  fd)toer  bertounbet 
©on  ©djurfeu. 

40  ©rat.  ©affio? 

3^9  0.  ©ag toie  get)t  bir%  ©ruber? 

©af.  3d)  bin  burd)T§  ©ein  geftodjen. 

3ogo.  ©ott  berfjuf  e§! 


80 


OTHELLO. 


Light,  gentlemen: — I’ll  bind  it  with  my  shirt. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  What  is  the  matter,  ho?  who  is’t  that  cried? 

5 Iago.  Who  is’t  that  cried! 

Bian.  0 my  dear  Cassio!  my  sweet  Cassio! 

0 Cassio,  Cassio,  Cassio! 

Iago.  0 notable  strumpet!  Cassio,  may  you  suspect 
Who  they  should  be  that  have  thus  mangled  you? 

10  Cas.  No. 

Gra.  I’m  sorry  to  find  you  thus:  I’ve  been  to  seek  you. 
Iago.  Lend  me  a garter.  So.  0,  for  a chair, 

To  bear  him  easily  hence! 

Bian.  Alas,  he  faints!  0 Cassio,  Cassio,  Cassio! 

15  Iago.  Gentlemen  all,  I do  suspect  this  trash 
To  be  a party  in  this  injury. 

Patience  awhile,  good  Cassio. — Come,  come; 

Lend  me  a light. — Know  we  this  face  or  no? 

Alas,  my  friend  and  my  dear  countryman 
20  Roderigo?  no: — yes,  sure;  0 heaven!  Roderigo. 

Gra.  What,  of  Venice? 

Iago.  Even  he,  sir:  did  you  know  him? 

Gra.  Know  him!  ay.  ) 

Iago.  Signior  Gratiano?  I cry  you  gentle  pardon; 

25  These  bloody  accidents  must  excuse  my  manners, 

That  so  neglected  you. 

Gra.  I’m  glad  to  see  you. 

Iago.  How  do  you,  Cassio?  0,  a chair,  a chair! 

Gra.  Roderigo ! 

30  Iago.  He,  he,  ’tis  he. — [A  chair  brought  in.]  0,  that’s  well 
said; — the  chair: — 

Some  good  man  bear  him  carefully  from  hence; 

I’ll  fetch  the  general’s  surgeon. — [To  Bianca/  For  you, 
mistress, 

35  Save  you  your  labour. — He  that  lies  slain  here,  Cassio, 
Was  my  dear  friend:  what  malice  was  between  you? 
Cas.  None  in  the  world;  nor  do  I know  the  man. 

Iago.  [To  BiancaJ  What,  look  you  pale? — 0,  bear  him  out 
o’  the  air. — /Lassio  and  Roderigo  arc  borne  off. 
40  Stay  you,  good  gentlemen.  Look  you  pale,  mistress? 

Do  you  perceive  the  gastness  of  her  eye? 

Nay,  if  you  stare,  we  shall  hear  more  anon. 

Behold  her  well;  I pray  you,  look  upon  her: 

81 


DtfjeHo. 


83ringt  Sid)t,  §errn  1 Wlit  bent  §entb  mid  id)'§  nerbinben. 
S3  tone  a tritt  auf. 

$8 1 an c a.  2Ba§  ift  gefdjeb'n?  SSer  mar  eS,  ber  fo  fdjrie? 

5 3 ago.  2Ber  max's, ‘ber  fdjrie? 

Bianca.  0 liebfter  ©affio!  0 mein  fitter  ©affio! 

0 ©affio!  ©affio!  ©affio ! 

^ a go.  0 bu  auSbunb'ge  WtJ$e ! ©affto,  mifjt  ifjr, 

2Ber  jene  maren,  bie  end)  fo  geldfjntt? 

10  ©af.  Sftein. 

©rat.  5D^icf)  fdjmerftt,  end)  fo  fet)rn:  idj  fud)tr  eud)  eben. 
^a go.  Seitft  ntir  ein  ©trumbfbanb ! ©a.  — 0 eine  ©anfte, 
3*|n  teife  bin^utragen. 

S3ianca.  ©r  fadt  tit  0tjnntad)t.  ©affio!  ©affio!  ©affio! 

15  3ogo.  3br  £>errnf  ntir  afynefS,  bie  $ermorf7ne  fjter 
©ei  mit  nerftrieft  in  biefer  ©renewal.  — 

©ebutb  ein  menig,  lieber  ©affio!  ®ontmt! 

©in  Sid)t  fjerl  — ®ennr  id)  ben  ba,  ober  nicf)t  ? — 

%d)  ©ott!  ift  baS  mein  greunb  unb  metier  SanbSmamt 
20  Slobrtgo?  — Sdein;  nnb  bod) ; — o ©ott  I Sftobrigo! 

©rat.  Otobrigo  non  $8enebig? 

3ft go.  ® erfelbe ; fennt  ifjr  i^n? 

©rat.  3a,  ader binaS. 

3a go.  ©igitor  ©ratiano?  0 §err,  id)  bin  befdjcimt; 

25  i)er  blufge  gad  entfd)utb’ge  meine  91auf)t)eit, 

3)ie  end)  mifjfamtt. 

©rat.  ©3  freut  mid),  end)  ju  fet)rn. 

3 ago.  ©affio,  mie  gefjt'S?  SDie  ©anfte!  §e,  bie  ©anfte! 
©rat.  dtobrigo! 

30  3ft  do.  3ct,  ja,  er  * iff  S'.  — 0 fd)on,  ba  fommt  bie 

©anfte. 

£ragt  xf)n  mit  ©orgfalt  ^eim,  it)r  guten  Sente; 

3cb  tjof  0ttjedo§  2Bunbar§t.  (8u  % tone  a.)  3*d  ba, 
Sungfer, 

35  ©part  enre  9Mf)?.  — ©affio,  ber  f)ier  gelatjmt  marb, 

3ft  fefjr  mein  greunb;  ma§  pallet  i^r  fur  ©treit? 

©af.  $did)t§  in  ber  2SeIt,  id)  fenit7  ifjn  nid)t  einmal. 

Sftgo.  C8tt  Bianca.)  2Bie?  fef)t  xfyx  btaff? — 0 tragt  i§n  auS 
ber  Suft.  [(Eaffi  o unb  Dtobrigo  toerben  tneggetragen. 

40  S3Xeibt,  merte  §errn ! — 3§r,  3iwgfer,  febt  fo  btafj? 
demerit  if)r,  mie  nerftbrt  if)x  5(uge  ftarrt?  — 

9?un,  bebt  it)r  gar,  erfafjreit  mir  mof)l  mef)x : — 

$3etrad)tet  fie,  i d)  bittr  end),  febt  fie  an; 

81 


11 


OTHELLO. 


Do  you  see,  gentlemen?  nay,  guiltiness  will  speak, 
Though  tongues  were  out  of  use. 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emil . ’Las,  what’s  thematter?  what’s  the  matter,  husband? 
5 Iago.  Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark 
By  Roderigo,  and  fellows  that  are  scap’d: 

He’s  almost  slain,  and  Roderigo  dead. 

Emil.  Alas,  good  gentleman!  alas,  good  Cassio! 

Iago.  This  is  the  fruit  of  whoring.  Pr’ythee,  Emilia, 

10  Go  know  of  Cassio  where  he  supp’d  to-night. 

[To  BiancaJ  What,  do  you  shake  at  that? 

Bian . He  supp’d  at  my  house  ; but  I therefore  shake  not. 
Iago.  0,  did  he  so?  I charge  you,  go  with  me. 

Emil.  Fie,  he  upon  thee,  strumpet! 

15  Bian.  I am  no  strumpet;  but  of  life  as  honest 
As  you  that  thus  abuse  me. 

Emil.  As  I!  foh!  he  upon  thee! 

Iago.  Kind  gentlemen,  let’s  go  see  poor  Cassio  dress’d. 
[To  BiancaJ  Come,  mistress,  you  must  tell ’s  another  tale. 
20  Emilia,  run  you  to  the  citadel, 

And  tell  my  lord  and  lady  what  hath  happ’d. 

Will  you  go  on?  I pray.  [Aside]  This  is  the  night 
That  either  makes  me  or  fordoes  me  quite.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  II.  A Bedchamber  in  the  Castle:  Desdemona  in  bed 
asleep;  a light  burning. 

Enter  Othello. 

30  Oth.  It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, — 

Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars! — 

It  is  the  cause.  Yet  I’ll  not  shed  her  blood; 

Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 

And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 

35  [Takes  off  his  sword. 

Yet  she  must  die,  else  she’ll  betray  more  men. 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  thy  light: 

If  I quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 

I can  again  thy  former  light  restore, 

40  Should  I repent  me:  but  once  put  out  thy  light, 

Thou  cunning’st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 

I know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat 

That  can  thy  light  relume.  When  I have  pluck’d  the  rose, 

S2 


Othello. 


9?id)t  nmljv,  if»r  §errn?  Qfjv  fd)lecf)t  ©etoiffen  fprid)tf 
28enn  aud)  tie  3ungen  9ar  ntdjt  reben  fbnnten. 

(Smilia  tritt  auf. 

©mil.  3Ba§  ift  gefd)ef)’n?  2ld),  9ftann,  ma§  ift  gefd)djrn? 
5 Sago,  ©ajfio  marb  t)ter  im  3)uitfeln  angefallen, 

Sftobrigo  roarT§  unb  attb're,  bie  entfio^n; 

©r  ift  Ijalb  tot  unb  Ovoberigo  ftarb. 

©mil.  9ld)  ©ott,  bev  arme  £err!  M),  guter  ©affto! 

Sago,  ^a^  ift  ber  Unjust  Strafe.  — £>or’,  ©milia, 

10  gragT  bod)  ben  ©affto,  mo  er  nad)t§  gefpeift. 

C8u  93  i arte  a.)  2Ba3?  Qittert  il)r  baOor? 

Bianca,  ©r  afe  bei  ntir.  $>od)  baOor  jittr’  idj  nid)t. 
Sago.  $a,  tl)at  ev  ba§?  $ommt,  fagT  id),  folgt  mir  nad)! 
©mil.  $fui,  fd)led)te§  3$ei b! 

15  Bianca.  Sd)  bin  fein  fd)led)te§  3Seib;  id)  bin  fo  eljrlid) 
§11$  i^r,  bie  fo  mid)  fdjintpft. 

©mil.  §118  id)?  Opfui!  • 

Sago,  $ommt, §errn,  jel)rn,  toie ©affto mirb fcerbunben; 
S|v,  Sungfer,  geljt,  eucf)  xeigt  man'$  balb  nod)  anber$. 

20  ©milia,  lauf  jur  ©itabelr  unb  melbe 

$>ent  §errn  unb  feitter  fjrau,  ma§  l)ier  gefdjat).  — 

Sd)  Bitte,  geljt  Doran ! (giir  fid).)  $)ie$  ift  bie  $J?ad)t 

3Die  mid)  bernidjtet  ober  gliidlidj  ntad)t.  [<sie  gefjen  ab. 


25 


3meite  5jette.  Sdjlaf$immer. 

$>e§bemona,  fchlafenb  im  93ett.  (Sin  2id)t  brennt  neben  ihr. 

Othello  tritt  herein. 

30  Dtt).  $)ie  Sadje  nrill%  bie  Sadje  milT$,  mein  §erj! 

£afjt  fie  mid)  eud)  nid)t  nennett,  !eufd)e  Sterne!  — 

3)ie  Sadje  nritl’3.  — 3)od)  nid)t  ibr  93Iut  bergie^r  id), 

9?od)  rib;  id)  biefe  |>aut,  fo  toeife  mie  Sdjnee 
Hub  fanft  mie  eine$  3)enfmal$  fllabafter.  — 

35  [®r  tegt  feinen  £>egen  ab, 

$)od)  fterben  rnufj  fie,  fonft  betriigt  fie  anb're. 

2l)u'  au§  ba§  2id)t,  unb  bann  — £l)u7  au$  ba§  £id)t;  — 
Sa,  tbfd)?  id)  bid),  bu  flammenfjeller  Wiener  — 

$ann  id)  bein  borigT  £id)t  bir  miebergeben, 

40  Sodf  id)r§  bereu'n;  — bod)  bein  £i'd)t  au$getl)an, 

$u  reijenb  9ftufter  b)errlicf)fter  -iftatur, 

9cie  finb’  id)  ben  $rometbeu§funfen  mieber, 

®ein  £id)t  ju  jitnben.  $fliidt’  id)  beine  9tofe, 

8*2  ‘ 11* 


OTHELLO. 


I cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 

It  must  needs  wither:  I’ll  smell  it  on  thy  tree.  [Kissing  her . 
Ah,  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword!  One  more,  one  more, 

5 Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I will  kill  thee, 

And  love  thee  after.  One  more,  and  that’s  the  last: 

So  sweet  was  ne’er  so  fatal.  I must  weep, 

But  they  are  cruel  tears:  this  sorrow’s  heavenly; 

It  strikes  where  it  doth  love. — 

10  She  wakes. 

Des.  Who’s  there?  Othello? 

Oth . Ay,  Desdemona. 

Des . Will  you  come  to  bed,  my  lord? 

Oth.  Have  you  pray’d  to-night,  Desdemona? 

15  Des . Ay,  my  lord. 

Oth.  If  you  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime 
Unreconcil’d  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace, 

Solicit  for  it  straight. 

Des.  Alas,  my  lord,  what  do  you  mean  by  that? 

20  Oth.  Well,  do  it,  and  be  brief;  I will  walk  by: 

I would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit; 

No, — heaven  forfend! — I would  not  kill  thy  soul. 

Des.  Talk  you  of  killing? 

Oth.  Ay,  I do. 

25  Des.  Then  heaven 

Have  mercy  on  mel 

Oth.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart! 

Des.  If  you  say  so,  I hope  you  will  not  kill  me. 

Oth.  Hum! 

30  Des.  And  yet  I fear  you;  for  you’re  fatal  then 
When  your  eyes  roll  so: 

Why  I should  fear  I know  not, 

Since  guiltiness  I know  not;  but  yet  I feel  I fear. 

Oth.  Think  on  thy  sins. 

35  Des.  ' They’re  loves  I bear  to  you. 

Oth.  Ay,  and  for  that  thou  diest. 

Des.  That  death’s  unnatural  that  kills  for  loving. 

Alas,  why  gnaw  you  so  your  nether  lip? 

Some  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame; 

40  These  are  portents;  but  yet  I hope,  I hope, 

They  do  not  point  on  me. 

Oth.  Peace,  and  be  still! 

Des.  I will  so.  What’s  the  matter? 


83 


Ctfietto. 


9?ie  fantt  id)  ifjr  ben  SebenSmudp  erneu’n, 

©iernujs,  ntufj  melfen;  bufte  mix  bom  ©tamnt!  [mifct  fie. 

0 tnitr^ger  §aud),  bet*  fefbft  ®ered)tiafeit 

35 r ©d)  inert  gu  bredjen  pringt!  — wod)  einen!  einen! 

5 ©ei  maun  bu  tot  Sift  fo,  bann  tot*  id)  bid) 

Unb  Hebe  bid)  nad)t)er  — nod)  einen  nnb  ben  (extent 
©o  fuff  tt> at  nie  fo  tottid).  3d)  muf;  meinen. 

3)od5  finb?§  graufante  £b,ranen;  biefer  ©djmetfc 
3ft  mie  be§  $immel3,  ftrafenb,  mo  er  Xiebt.  — 

10  ©ie  madjt.  — 

3)e§b.  2Ber  ba?  0tf)eUo? 

Dtf).  3a,  3>e§bemona. 

3)e3b.  SBoIft  itjr  $u  95ett  ae5*n,  mein  ($temal)l? 

Dtt).  §aft  bn  §u  &ad)t  gebetet,  3)e§bemona? 

15  3)e3b.  3a,  mein  ©emafd ! 

0tf).  $annft  bu  bid)  einer  ©iinbe  nod)  erinnent, 

9cid)t  au§gefof)nt  bent  §immel  unb  bet  ©uabe, 

©o  ftebe  je|t  al§batb. 

S)e3b.  2Xd),  mein  ©etttaXjt!  28a§  midft  bu  bamit  fagen? 

20  O t d).  28oX)t,  tip’  e§  nub  fei  tur§;  id)  get)*  beifeite ; 

9cid)t  mbd)t*  id)  beinen  dkift  in  ©ihtben  toten, 

9?ein,  (SJott  0ert)ut*3 ! nid)t  beine  ©ee(e  toten. 

3)e§b.  ©brid)ft  bu  Oonx  Xoteu? 

0 tl).  3a! 

25  3)e§b.  3)amt,  gitfger  $immel, 

(Srbarrn*  bid)  mein! 

0tf).  3(men  bon’ganjem  §er§en! 

S)e3b.  SBemt  bu  fo  fbridjft,  bann  ttrirft  bu  mid)  nidbt  toten! 
0tt).  §m!  — 

30  3)e§b.  Unb  bennod)  fitrdjt*  id)  bid^f  benn  bu  bift  fdfredtid), 
SSenn  fo  bein  ?(uge  rodt. 

3® arum  id)  fiird)ten  fodte,  mei§  id)  nidjt, 

3)aid)Oon  ©d)ulbnid)t§  meift;  bod)  fitbl*  tdj,  bafo  id)  furcate. 
0t$.  Sent*  beiner  ©iinbe ! 

35  Se§b.  Sa§  ift  $u  bit  bie  §etften£liebe. 

0tl)-  Unb  bafixr  ftirbft  bu ! 

Se§b.  ©raufamer  Sob,  ber  nur  um  Siebe  tbtet!  — 

M)f  marttm  nagft  bu  fo  bie  Unterltbbe? 

Sein  ganger  )8au  erbebt  in  blut7ger  2But. 

40  Sa§  finb  SBorjeidjen ; bod)  id)  id)  l^offe, 

©ie  beuten  nidjt  auf  mid). 

£ttj.  ©djm'eig*  unb  fei  ftid!  — 

Se3b.  3d)  fd)meige;  ma§  begetjrft  bu?  — 

83 


OTHELLO. 


5 


10 


15 


20 


25 


30 


35 


40 


Oih.  That  handkerchief  which  I so  lov’d  and  gave  thee 
Thou  gavest  to  Cassio. 

Dcs.  No,  by  my  life  and  soul! 

Send  for  the  man,  and  ask  him. 

Oth.  Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 

Take  heed  of  perjury;  thou  art  on  thy  death-bed. 

Dcs.  Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die. 

Oth.  Yes,  presently: 

Therefore  confess  thee  freely  of  thy  sin; 

For  to  deny  each  article  with  oath 

Cannot  remove  nor  choke  the  strong  conception 

That  I do  groan  withal.  Thou  art  to  die. 

Des.  Then  Lord  have  mercy  on  me! 

Oth.  I say,  amen. 

Dcs.  And  have  you  mercy  too!  I never  did 
Offend  you  in  my  life;  never  loved  Cassio 
But  with  such  general  warranty  of  heaven 
As  I might  love;  I never  gave  him  token. 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I saw  my  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 

0 perjur’d  woman!  thou  dost  stone  my  heart, 

And  mak’st  me  call  what  I intend  to  do 

A murder,  which  I thought  a sacrifice: 

1 saw  the  handkerchief. 

Dcs.  He  found  it,  then; 

I never  gave  it  him:  send  for  him  hither; 

Let  him  confess  a truth. 

Oth.  He  hath  confess’d. 

Dcs.  What,  my  lord? 

Oth.  That  he  hath  used  thee. 

Dcs.  How?  unlawfully? 

Oth.  Ay. 

Des.  He  will  not  say  so. 

Oth.  No,  his  mouth  is  stopp’d; 

Honest  Iago  hath  ta’en  order  for’t. 

Dcs.  0!  my  fear  interprets:  what,  is  he  dead? 

Oth.  Had  all  his  hairs  been  lives,  my  great  revenge 
Had  stomach  for  them  all. 

Dcs.  Alas!  he  is  betray’d  and  I undone! 

Oth.  Out,  strumpet!  weep’st  thou  for  him  to  my  face? 
Des.  0,  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not! 

Oih.  Down,  strumpet! 

Dcs.  Kill  me  to-morrow:  let  me  live  to-night! 

Oth.  Nay,  if  you  strive, — 


84 


OttjeHo. 


Otb.  2)a3  Xud),  ba3  id)  fo  wert  ^iett  unb  bit  fdjenlte, 
3)u  gabft  e3  (Saffio. 

$)e§b.  -iftein,  bei  6eel7  unb  Seben! 

tttuf7  ibn  berbet  unb  frag7  ibn. 

5 Dtb-  23ebute,  $inb,  bebiiie  bid)  nor  ^eineib, 

5£)u  lieqft  auf  beinem  (Sterbebette. 

$)e3b.  £$a,  bod)  nid^t  je£t  ^u  fterben. 

Otb.  So,  alSbatb; 

2)arum  befenn7  aufrid)tig  betne  6iinbe; 

10  3>enn  jeben  $unft  mit  einem  (Sib  nerleuguen, 

9^icf)t  mctt^t  e§  ab,  nod)  beugt7£  ber  Ueber^eugung  £aft, 
$)ie  mid)  ftu  SBoben  briicft.  2)u  bift  am  Sterben! 
3)e§b.  2)ann,  ©ott,  erbarm7  bid)  mein! 

Otb*  3d)  faae  2(men! 

15  $)e§b.  2tudj  bu  erbarmT  bid)  mein!  ^ie  bob7  id)  bid) 
3emal§  beleibigt,  (Saffio  nie  geliebt, 

mit  ber  Siebe,  bie  ber  pummel  felbft 
©eftattet;  niemal§  gab  id)  i|m  ein  $fanb. 

Otb.  S3et  ©ott,  id)  fab  mein  Xud)  in  feinen  |mnben; 

20  9fteineibig  SBeib!  £m!  bu  nerfteinft  mein  £>er& 

Unb  mad)ft  jum  9ftorb,  ma§  id)  beginnen  mitt, 

28a§  idj  al§  Obfer  meinte. 

3d)  fab  ba§  Xud). 

$)e3b.  6o  bot  er7§  benn  gefunben; 

25  $ie  bob’  id)7§  ibm  gegeben;  ruf7  ibn  ber, 

$>af$  er  befennt,  wie’§  ift. 

Otb-  (Sr  bot  betannt. 

2)e3b.  2Ba§,  teurer  $err? 

Otb.  $)af3  er  bein  greunb  gewefcn  — 

30  3)e§b.  SBie?  unerlaubt? 

Otb.  So! 

2) e§b.  $)a§  !ann  er  nid)t  fagen. 

Otb.  O uein,  fein  Stthtnb  ift  ftumm; 

$er  treue  Sogo  bot  bafiir  geforgt. 

35  $)e§b.  O ! meine  gurdjt  erfldrt  mir73.  3Bie  ? (Sr  tot? 
Otb.  Ob  jebe§  £>aar  ein  £eben  mar,  mein  @rimm 
$erfd)(ang  fie  atte. 

$)e§b.  O ®ott!  (Sr  ift  oerraten,  idj  nerloren! 

Otb.  §o,  50lette!  SBeinft  um  ibn  nor  meinen  ?tugen? 

40  2)  e § b.  $Berfto|e  ntid) ! O,  tote  midi  nur  nid)t. 

Otb-  9fteber  mit  bir,  9J?e£e! 

3) e§b.  50i5te  micb  morgen,  lafj  midj  beu*  nod)  leben 
Otb-  $ein  0trduben!  ’ 


84 


OTHELLO. 


Des.  But  half  an  hour! 

Oth.  Being  done,  there  is  no  pause. 

Des.  But  while  I say  one  prayer! 

Oth.  It  is  too  late.  [He  stifles  her. 

5 Emil,  [within]  My  lord,  my  lord!  what,  ho!  my  lord,  my 
lord ! 

Oth.  What  noise  is  this?  Not  dead?  not  yet  quite  dead? 
I that  am  cruel  am  yet  merciful; 

I would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain: — 

.[  Stabs  her. 

So,  so. 

Emil.  [ within ] What,  ho!  my  lord,  my  lord! 

Oth.  Who’s  there? 

Emil  [within]  0,  good  my  lord,  I would  speak  a word  with  you ! 
15  Oth.  Yes:  ’tis  Emilia.  By  and  by. — She’s  dead. — 

’Tis  like  she  comes  to  speak  of  Cassio’s  death; 

The  noise  was  high.  — Ha!  no  more  moving? 

Still  as  the  graven — Shall  she  come  in?  were’t  good? — 

I think  she  stirs  again: — no. — What’s  best  to  do? 

20  If  she  come  in,  she’ll  sure  speak  to  my  wife: 

My  wife!  my  wife!  what  wife?  I have  no  wife. 

0,  insupportable!  0 heavy  hour! 

Methinks  it  should  be  now  a huge  eclipse 
Of  sun  and  moon,  and  that  the  affrighted  globe 
25  Should  yawn  at  alteration. 

Emil,  [within]  I do  beseech  you 

That  I may  speak  with  you,  0,  good  my  lord! 

Oth.  I had  forgot  thee:  0,  come  in,  Emilia:  — 

Soft, — by  and  by: — let  me  the  curtains  dr^w. — 

80  Where  art  thou?  [Unlocks  the  door. 

Enter  Emilia. 

What’s  the  matter  with  thee  now? 
Emil.  0,  my  good  lord,  yonder’s  foul  murder  done! 

Oth . What,  now  ? 

35  Emil.  But  now,  my  lord. 

Oth.  It  is  the  very  error  of  the  moon; 

She  comes  more  near  the  earth  than  she  was  wont, 
And  makes  men  mad. 

Emil.  Cassio,  my  lord. 

40  Hath  kill’d  a young  Venetian 
Call’d  Boderigo. 

Oth.  Boderigo  kill’d! 

And  Cassio  kill’d! 


85 


. Otfjetto. 


3)e§b.  ^ur  ein  ©tiinbcfjen. 

Dtf).  3ft’§  getfjan,  SBraudjt'S  feineg  go gern§. 

£)e§b.  9ta  Bi§  idj  nod)  geBetet! 

0tf).  r$  ift  fadt.  [@r  erfiicft  fie.. 

5 ©mil.  (brauBen)  3)?ein  gndb’ger  §err I £>e!  §oHa!  ©nab'ger 
$err! 

0tf).  28a3  fiir  ein  Sdrm?  Siidjttot?  9?od)  nidjt  gang  tot?  — 
Qd)  Bin  $n>ar  graufam,  aBer  bod)  Barudjer^ig ; 

0ctd^t  mod)t’  ic£>  bir  Dedangern  beine  dual.  — 

10  [Srftidjt  fie  mit  bem  £>otcBe,. 

@0,  jo. 

©util.  (brauBen)  §e,  ^oda!  ©ndb’ger  ^err! 

£)t§.  SSerba? 

©mil.  (brauBen)  0 Bejter  §err ! nur  auf  ein  SBort  mit  end). 
15  0tt).  Qal  ’§  ijt  ©milia.  — ©teidj!  — 3e|t  ift  fie  tot.  — 
©emiB,  fie  fommt  nnb  melbet  ©affior§  £ob; 

SDer  Sarm  mar  grof}.  — £m!  3ftegft  bn  bid)  nidjt  meljr? 
©tilt,  urie  ba§  ©raB.  — 2)arf  fie  herein?  — SEB.dr'S  gut?  — 
SOUr  baudjt,  fie  riigrt  fid).  — $ein.  — 2$a§  ift  ba§  SBefte? 
20  fomnxt  fie,  ttrirb  fie  nad)  meinent  SBeiBe  fragen  — 

9DMn  SBeiB ! SDcein  SBeiB ! — SBetdj  2Bei6  ? $d)  tjaB*  fein  SBeiB. 
0,  unertrcigtid)  I 0,  furcfjtBare  ©tunbe ! 

9hm,  badjf  id),  miifjf  ein  groj)  SSerfinftern  fein 
Sin  ©omtr  unb  SJionb  unb  bie  erfdjredte  ©rbe 
25  ©id)  aufttjun  t>or  ©ntfetxen. 

©mit  (brauBen)  Qd)  Bitf  end)  bringenb,  gonnt  ntir  nur  ein 
DBefter  §err!  ' [SBortt 

0tfj.  0!  id)  Bergaf)  bid).  — fomm  herein,  ©milia! 

©adjf,  — gteid) ! ©ogteid)!  — 3d)  §ie§r  ben  SSor^ang  $u. 

30  2Bo  fommft  bu  t>ev? 

©r  fdjIieBt  bie  Satire  auf,  Emilia  tritt  herein. 

2Ba§  fjaft  bu  mir  fagen? 

©mil.  0,  lieBer  §err!  ©in  fiinb’ger  SJtorb  gefd)a§. 

0tt).  SBie,  jefct? 

©mil.  ° 3dd  eBen,  £>err! 

0ttj.  £)a§  tjat  toagrljaftig  nur  ber  9D?onb  Berfdjulbet; 

©r  tommt  ber  ©rbe  nafjer,  al%  er  Bffegt, 

Unb  mad)t  bie  Sttenjdjen  rafenb. 

©mil.  ©affio,  £>err, 

40  £3radjtr  einen  jungen  SSenetianer  urn, 

©enannt  Siobrigo. 

Dtfj.  s28a§ ! Dlobrigo  tot? 

Hub  ©affio  tot? 


85 


OTHELLO. 


Emil,  No,  Cassio  is  not  kill’d. 

Oth.  Not  Cassio  kill’d!  then  murder’s  out  of  tune, 

And  sweet  revenge  grows  harsh. 

Des.  0,  falsely,  falsely  murder’d! 

5 Emil . Alas,  what  cry  is  that? 

Oth . That!  what? 

Emil.  Out,  and  alas!  that  was  my  lady’s  voice. 

Help!  help,  ho!  help!  0 lady,  speak  again! 

Sweet  Desdemona!  0 sweet  mistress,  speak! 

10  Des.  A guiltless  death  I die. 

Emil.  0,  who  hath  done 

This  deed? 

Des.  Nobody,  — I myself.  Farewell: 

Commend  me  to  my  kind  lord:  0,  farewell!  [Dies. 
15  Oth.  Why,  how  should  she  be  murder’d? 

Emil.  Alas,  who  knows? 

Oth.  You  heard  her  say  herself,  it  was  not  I. 

Emil.  She  said  so:  I must  needs  report  the  truth. 

Oth.  She’s,  like  a liar,  gone  to  burning  hell: 

20  ’Twas  I that  kill’d  her. 

Emil.  0,  the  more  angel  she, 

And  you  the  blacker  devil! 

Oth.  She  turn’d  to  folly,  and  she  was  a whore. 

Emil.  Thou  dost  belie  her,  and  thou  art  a devil. 

25  Oth.  She  was  false  as  water. 

Emil.  Thou  art  rash  as  fire,  to  say 

That  she  was  false:  0,  she  was  heavenly  true! 

Oth.  Cassio  did  top  her;  ask  thy  husband  else. 

0,  I were  damn’d  beneath  all  depth  in  hell, 

SO  But  that  I did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 

To  this  extremity.  Thy  husband  knew  it  all. 

Emil.  My  husband ! 

Oth.  Thy  husband. 

Emil.  That  she  was  false  to  wedlock? 

S5  Oth.  Ay,  with  Cassio.  Nay,  had  she  been  true, 

If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite, 

I’d  not  have  sold  her  for  it. 

Emil.  My  husband ! 

40  Oth.  Ay,  ’twas  he  that  told  me  first; 

An  honest  man  he  is,  and  hates  the  slime 
That  sticks  on  filthy  deeds. 

Emil.  My  husband! 

S8 


OtfjdTo. 


©mil.  9iein,  ©affio  i ft  nicf)t  tot. 

0tb-  ©affio  nid)t  tot?  $>ann  flingt  ber  -Hftorb  fcerftimmt 
Unb  rant)  bie  fiifte  *Rad)e. 

$)e§b.  0 ungeredjter  sJttorb!  — 

5 ©mil.  ©ott!  2Beld)7  ein  ©dfrei  mar  ba§  ? 

0tf).  £>a§?  2Ba§? 

©mil.  0 ^eil’ger  ©ott!  $>ie  ©timme  meiner  $rau! 

£>elft,  ^elft,  o ' f»elft ! 0 Xeure,  fpredjt  nod)  einmal! 

0 &e§bemona!  fiifre  |>errin,  fbredjt!  — 

10  $)e§b.  3d)  ftcrbe  fdjulbloS. 

©mil.  0!  2Ber  bat  bie  £bat  boll- 

brad)t  ? 

25e§b.  9Uemanb  — id)  felbft,  — leb7  mobl! 

©mpfieblmid)  meinem  giifgen  §errn,  leb7  mobl!  [<Sie  ftir&t. 
15  0tb-  SSie?  mar7  fie  benn  ermorbet? 

©mil.  $ott!  mer  meifc  e$? 

0tb-  3)u  bbrfft  e§  bon  ibr  felbft,  id)  that  e§  nid)t. 

©mil.  ©o  fagte  fie,  fo  mufe  id)7§  tveu  berid)ten. 

0tb-  6ie  fubr  al§  Siignerin  jur  glammenbblle: 

20  3d)  toot  ibv  2tti5rber. 

©mil.  ©o  mcljr  ©ngel  fie, 

Unb  bu  fo  fd)mar£rer  Seufel! 

0tb-  ©ie  ftei  ber  ©ilnbT  anbeim  unb  marb  $ur  §ure. 

©mil.  92ein,  bu  beliigft  fie  unb  bu  bift  ein  Teufel. 

25  £5tb-  6ie  mar  mie  Staffer  falfd). 

©mil.  Unb  bu  bift  milb  mie  3euer,  menu  bu  fie 
$)er  3alfd)beit  jeibft;  o fie  mar  bintmlifd)treu!  — 

0tb-  ©affio  berfiibrte  fie:  frag7  beinen  Warm; 

SSerbammt  mar7  id)  $um  tiefjten  £>bllenabgrunb, 

30  28enn  icb  nidjt  borfd)ritt  auf  geredjtem  ©>ruitb 
3u  biefent  ^lufterften;  — bein  sIftann  meifs  alle§. 

©mil.  9ttein  9ftann? 

0tb-  2)ein  9flann. 

©mil.  SDaf$  fie  bie  ©be  brad)?  — 

35  0tb-  3a  bod)f  mit  ©affio.  2Bar7  fie  treu  gemefen 
Unb  fdjuf  mir  eine  §meite  28elt  ber  pummel 
2lu§  einem  fefjlioS  reinen  ©brt)folitb, 

3d)  gab  fie  nicbt  bafiir. 

©mil.  sIRein  Sftann!  — 

40  0tb.  3a  mobf,  er  mar’s,  ber  mid)  juerft  gemarnt; 

©r  ift  ein  ©bmttnann  unb  bafd  ben  ©djlarnm 
©d)anbbarer  ©reueltbat. 

©mil.  3ftein  SUcann? 

86 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  What  needs  this  iterance,  woman?  I say  thy  hus- 
band. 

Emil.  0 mistress,  villany  hath  made  mocks  with  love! 
My  husband  say  that  she  was  false! 

5 Oth.  He,  woman; 

I say  thy  husband:  dost  understand  the  word? 

My  friend,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  Iago. 

Emil.  If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 
Eot  half  a grain  a day!  he  lies  to  the  heart: 

10  She  was  too  fond  of  her  most  filthy  bargain. 

Oth.  Ha! 

Emil.  Do  thy  worst: 

This  deed  of  thine  is  no  more  worthy  heaven 
Than  thou  wast  worthy  her. 

15  Oth.  Peace,  you  were  best. 

Emil . Thou  hast  not  half  that  power  to  do  me  harm 
As.  I have  to  be  hurt.  0 gull!  0 dolt! 

As  ignorant  as  dirt!  thou  hast  done  a deed — 

I care  not  for  thy  sword;  I’ll  make  thee  known, 

20  Though  I lost  twenty  lives. — Help!  help,  ho!  help! 

The  Moor  hath  kill’d  my  mistress!  Murder!  murder! 

Eizter  Montano,  Gkatiano,  and  Iago. 

Mon.  What  is  the  matter?  How  now,  general! 

25  Emil.  0,  are  you  come,  Iago?  you  ’ve  done  well, 

That  men  must  lay  their  murders  on  your  neck. 

Gra.  What  is  the  matter? 

Emil.  Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be’st  a man  : 

He  says  thou  told’st  him  that  his  wife  was  false: 

30  I know  thou  didst  not,  thou  art  not  such  a villain: 
Speak,  for  my  heart  is  full. 

Iago.  I told  him  what  I thought;  and  told  no  more 
Than  what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true. 

Emil.  But  did  you  ever  tell  him  she  was  false? 

35  Iago.  I did. 

Emil.  You  told  a lie;  an  odious,  damned  lie; 

Upon  my  soul,  a lie,  a wicked  lie. 

She  false  with  Cassio! — did  you  say  with  Cassio? 

Iago.  With  Cassio,  mistress.  Go  to,  charm  your  tongue. 
40  Emil,  I will  not  charm  my  tongue;  I’m  bound  to  speak: 
My  mistress  here  lies  murder’d  in  her  bed, 

All.  O heavens  forfend! 

Emil.  And  your  reports  have  set  the  murder  on. 

87 


Ctfjeffo. 


£>tb-  58op  bie  58ieberbotung,  SSetb? 

3d)  fage  bit,  beirt  9ttann. 

(Emil.  0 teure  3rau,  83o3t)eit  trieb  ©pott  m it  fiiebe! 

5)£ein  5ttann  fagt,  bafj  fie  falfd)  ift? 

5 0tb-  28eib!  er  fagt% 

®ettt  5ttamt,  bein  9Kann,  derftebft  bu? 

9Q?ein  3reunb,  bein  9ftamt,  ber  macfre,  macfre  $ago. 
©util  ©agt  etr§,  mag  ibm  bie  gift’ge  ©eete  tagtid) 
$erfauten  um  ?nen  ©tan!  ©r  Xiigt  at§  ©d)etm; 

10  ©ie  Xiebte  nut  p febr  iX)r  ftagtid)  Q3unbni§. 

0tb-  §a! 

©mil  £f)Ur  bein  5trgfte§; 

©o  mert  ift  biefe  beirie  XX)at  be§  §immel§, 

5tt§  ifjrer  bn. 

15  £>tt).  5lm  beften  mob  I,  bn  fdjmieg’ft. 

©mil  3>u  baft  uidjt  both  bie  ®raft,  mir  meb  p tbun, 

5tt§  id)T§  p tragen.  SDummfobf,  blober  Xljor! 

§irnto§,  mie  $ot,  bie  £bQt,  bie  bu  getban  — 

28a§  fitmmert  mid)  bein  ©djmert?  Qd)  ntadl  e§  funb 

20  ilnb  gdtf  e§  pan§ig  fieben.  §elft,  belft,  l)elft ! 

©)er  afeobr  bat  meine  fj-rau  ermiirgt : sIftorb ! 3ft  orb ! 

Montano,  ©ratiano  itrtb  Sago  treten  auf. 

3ft  out.  3Ba§  gebt  bie?  dot?  5$a§  giebt  e§,  ©enerat? 

25  ©mil.  £>  tommft  bu,  Qago?  — ©i,  bu  ntad)ft  e§  fdjon, 
S)af$  anbrre  ifjre  3ftorbtbat  auf  bid)  fd)ieben. 

©tat.  3Sa§  gebt  bier  dot? 

©mil.  ©traf  biefen  33o§mid)t  Sitgen,  menu  bu  3ftann  bift. 
@r  foridjt : $>u  fagteft  ibm,  fein  Seib  fei  falfd) ; 

30  Qcb  meift,  ba§  tbatft  bu  nicgt,  bu  bift  fein  ©djelm:  — 
©prid),  benn  mein  §ei*5  ift  dod. 

3 ci go.  3cb  fagf  ibm,  ma§  id)  bad)te ; fagt’  and)  nid)t§, 

3tt§  ma§  et  feXbft  gtaubmiirbig  fanb  unb  toabt. 

©mil.  ©o  baft  bu  je  gefagt,  fie  fei  nidjt  tteu? 

35  3 ago.  3d)  tbat'3. 

©mil.  $)a£  mat  rne  Siige;  fdjnbbe,  bbdrfd)e  £iige: 

33ei  ©ott,  rne  fiiige,  tec^t  detbammte  Siige: 

©ie  falfd)  mit  ©affio?  ©agteft  bu,  mit  ©affio? 

3 ago.  3ftit  ©affio,  *3Beib ; ftiH!  33anb’ge  beine  gunge! 

40  ©mil  3)ie  gunge  bcinb’gen?  3?eben  mid  id)  faut;  — 

3n  ibtem  93ett  liegt  meine  gtau  etmotbet. 
tie.  0,  ©ott  derbiif  e§! 

©mil  Unb  bein  SSet’betmn  ftiftete  ben  3ftorb. 

87 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  Nay,  stare  not,  masters:  it  is  true,  indeed. 

Gra.  ’Tis  a strange  truth. 

Mon.  0 monstrous  act! 

Emil.  Villany,  villany,  villany! 

5 I think  upon’t, — I think,— I smell’t : — 0 villany ! — 

I thought  so  then ; — I’ll  kill  myself  for  grief : — 

0 villany,  villany! 

lago.  What,  are  you  mad?  I charge  you,  get  you  home. 
Emil . Good  gentlemen,  let  me  have  leave  to  speak: 

10  ’Tis  proper  I obey  him,  but  not  now. 

Perchance,  lago,  I will  ne’er  go  home. 

Oth.  01010!  [He  falls  on  the  bed '. 

Emil.  Nay,  lay  thee  down  and  roar; 

For  thou  hast  kill’d  the  sweetest  innocent 
15  That  e’er  did  lift  up  eye. 

Oth.  0,  she  was  foul!—  [Rising. 

1 scarce  did  know  you,  uncle:  there  lies  your  niece, 
Whose  breath,  indeed,  these  hands  have  newly  stopp’d: 
I know  this  act  shows  horrible  and  grim. 

20  Gra.  Poor  Desdemona!  I'm  glad  thy  father’s  dead: 

Thy  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain:  did  he  live  now, 

This  sight  would  make  him  do  a desperate  turn, 

Yea,  curse  his  better  angel  from  his  side, 

25  And  fall  to  reprobation. 

Oth.  ’Tis  pitiful;  but  yet  lago  knows 
That  she  with  Cassio  hath  the  act  of  shame 
A thousand  times  committed;  Cassio  confess’d  it: 

And  she  did  gratify  his  amorous  works 
30  With  that  recognizance  and  pledge  of  love 

Which  I first  gave  her;  I saw  it  in  his  hand: 

It  was  a handkerchief,  an  antique  token 
My  father  gave  my  mother. 

Emil . 0 heaven!  0 heavenly  powers! 

35  lago.  Come,  hold  your  peace. 

Emil.  ’Twill  out,  ’twill  out:  I peace  1 

No,  I will  speak  as  liberal  as  the  north: 

Let  heaven  and  men  and  devils,  let  them  all, 

All,  all,  cry  shame  against  me,  yet  I’ll  speak. 

40  lago.  Be  wise,  and  get  you  home. 

Emil.  I will  not.  [Iago  offers  to  stab  Emilia. 

Gra.  Fie  1 

Your  sword  upon  a woman? 

88 


Ctfjctto. 


£tf).  9iein,  ftarrt  nirf)t  fo,  if)r  £ernt,  if t mirllid)  mabr.. 

©rat.  Unfel'ge  28abrbeit ! 

2ft  ont.  Ungebeure  £bat!  — 

©mil  0 23iiberei,  Derrud)te  SBiiberei!  — 

5 3d)  benfe  b’ran,  — id)  ben!'  — id)  merf§  — o 33iiberei  t 

Qd)  bad)f  e§  gleid)  — tier  ©ram  mi3d)f  id)  mid)  toten! 

0 33iiberei ! — 

Sago.  3Ba§?  bift  bu  toll?  ©ebr  gleid)  nad)  §au§,  befefjf  id)., 
©mil.  3^r  eblert  §errn!  $ergi5nnt  mir,  baf)  id)  rebe. 

10  3bm  &u  gebord)en  ^iemt  mir,  bod)  nid)t  jefct. 

$iedeid)t  gef)r  id)  nie  mebr  nad)  |>aufe,  Sago. 

0tb-  (blicft  auf  2)e§bemona.)  0,  o,  o,  o! 

©mil.  3af  toirf  bid)  f)in  unb  brittle, 

3BeiI  bu  gentorbet  §aft  bie  ^olb?fte  Unfd)ulb, 

15  5)ie  je  ben  23  lid  erbob. 

0tb-  0,  fie  mar  fdjled)t  — 

3d)  fab  end)  je£t  erft,  0bm:  fa,  biefe  £anb 
|>at  mirflid)  eure  ^ctd)te  jefct  ermorbet. 

3d)  meifc,  bie  S0^at  fiebt  greulid)  au§  unb  fcbmar^. 

20  ©rat.  $)u  arme3  ®inb ! — ©ut,  baf$  bein  23ater  ftarb; 
$>ein  23itnbni§  marb  ibnt  toblid);  ©ram  altein 
3er(d)nitt  ben  alien  Saben;  lebf  er  jetrt, 

$>er  2lnblid  miirb’  tfjn  in  SBenmeiflung  ftur^en, 

$)aj3  er  ben  guten  ©ngel  tmn  fid)  fhid)te, 

25  <Sein  ©eelenbeil  gefd^rbeitb. 

0tb.  3a,  e§  ift  jammerood!  $)od)  Sago  meift, 

$aj3  fie  bie  fd)nbbe  X^at  mit  biefem  ©affio 
28ol)l  bunbertmal  beging:  ©affio  geftanb’S 
Unb  fie  oergalt  ibnt  feine  £iebe§giut 
30  2ftit  bem  ©ebad)tni§bfanb  unb  23rautgefd)enf, 

$a§  id)  ibr  gab;  id)  fab?§  in  feiner  §anb; 

©3  mar  ein  Xud),  ein  alte§  2lnaebenlen, 

Xa§  cinft  mein  SSater  meiner  Stutter  gab. 

©mil.  0 air  ibr  §immel3mdd)te! 

35  Sago.  2&iIIft  bu  f(bmeigen? 

©mil.  ©3  ntub  b^rau§f  be™u3!  Stefct  fdjmeigen?  Sfteiit, 
9tein,  id)  mill  reben,  ungebentmt  mie  Sftorbminb. 

£a ft  |>immel,  2ftenjdjen/ Xeufel,  alle,  atte, 

0d)tnad)  rufen  iiber  mid),  id)  rebe  bod)!  — 

40  Sago.  0ei  Hug  unb  geb?  nadi  £>au§. 

©mil.  3%  laill  nid)t.  [3  a a 0 ma<f)t  SDUcne  fie  511  erftcdjeit. 

©rat.  $fuU 

2)en  $)egen  auf  ein  28eib? 


OTHELLO. 


Emil.  0 thou  dull  Moor!  that  handkerchief  thou  speak’st  of 
I found  by  fortune  and  did  give  my  husband; 

For  often,  with  a solemn  earnestness, 

(More  than  indeed  belong’d  to  such  a trifle), 

5 He  begg’d  of  me  to  steal  it. 

lago.  Yillanous  whore! 

Emil.  She  give  it  Cassio!  no,  alas,  I found  it, 

And  I did  give’t  my  husband. 

I ago.  Filth,  thou  liest! 

10  Emil.  Bv  heaven,  I do  not,  I do  not,  gentlemen. — 

0 murderous  coxcomb!  what  should  such  a fool 
Ho  with  so  good  a wife? 

Oth.  Are  there  no  stones  in  heaven 

But  what  serve  for  the  thunder? — Precious  villain! 

15  [Othello  offers  to  stab  Iago,  but  is  disarmed  by  Montano: 
Iago  stabs  Emilia,  and  then  runs  out. 

Gra.  The  woman  falls;  sure,  he  hath  kill’d  his  wife. 
Emil.  Ay,  ay:  0,  lay  me  by  my  mistress’  side. 

Gra.  He’s  gone,  but  his  wife’s  kill’d. 

20  Mon.  ’Tis  a notorious  villain.  Take  you  this  weapon,  • 
Which  I have  here  recover’d  from  the  Moor: 

Come,  guard  the  door  without;  let  him  not  pass, 

But  kill  him  rather.  I’ll  after  that  same  villain, 

For  ’tis  a damned  slave. 

25  [ Exeunt  Montano  and  Gratiano« 

Oth.  I am  not  valiant  neither, 

But  every  puny  whipster  gets  my  sword: 

But  why  should  honour  outlive  honesty? 

Let  it  go  all. 

30  Emil.  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 

Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me?  I will  play  the  swan, 

And  die  in  music:  [Singing.]  Willow,  willow,  willow. — 
Moor,  she  was  chaste;  she  lov’d  thee,  cruel  Moor; 

So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I speak  true; 

35  So  speaking  as  I think,  I die,  I die.  [Dies. 

Oth.  I have  another  weapon  in  this  chamber; 

It  is  a sword  of  Spain,  the  ice-brook’s  temper: — 

0,  here  it  is.  Uncle,  I must  come  forth. 

Gra.  [within]  If  thou  attempt  it,  it  will  cost  thee  dear: 

40  Thou  hast  no  weapon,  and  perforce  must  suffer. 

Oth.  Look  in  upon  me,  then,  and  speak  with  me, 

Or,  naked  as  I am,  I will  assault  thee. 

Re-enter  Gratiano. 

Gra . What  is  the  matter? 


89 


Otfjetfo. 


©mil.  i)  bummer  Mobr  ! $£>a§  £udj,  turn  bent  bu  fagft, 
$anb  id)  burd)  Qufall  unb  gabr§  metnent  Manne; 

S)enn  oft  mtt  feierlid)em  Srnft  unb  ^acftbrucf 
(Mebr,  aly  fitr  folcl^e  ®leinigfeit  fid)  giemte) 

5 §ieft  er'§  mid)  fte^ten. 

3ago.  £)u  Uerbantmte  Mefte! 

Snt it.  @te  gab  e§  Saffio?  — 9tatt,  ad)  nein!  3d)  faitb’§ 
Unb  gab  e§  metitem  Mann. 

3ago.  $u§bunb!  bu  litgft ! 

10  ©mil.  $3ei  ©ott,  id)  log  nidjt,  nein,  ibr  eblen  .gerrn 
23lutbitrffger  ^arr!  2Ba§  follf  and)  biefer  %xo\>) 

Mtt  folder  guten  gran? 

Ott).  ©iebf§  feinen  $eil  im  §tmntel 

nur  gum  Conner  ? — ?lu§erlefruer  ©djurfe ! 

LS  ci  g o erfticljt  feiite  grcm  itttb  lauft  fort 

©rat.  ©ie  finft;  mabrbaftig,  er  erftad)  fein  $Beib ! 

©mil.  3a,  k o legt  mid)  ttebett  meine  §errin! 

.©rat.  Sr  lief  baooit,  bod)  feine  gran  ift  bin. 

20 'Mont.  ’§  ift  etn  ©rfbofemidit.  — 23emabrt  bie§  ©djrnert, 
3)a§  id)  je^t  bier  bent  Mobren  meggenommen. 

SBefe^t  bie  duff  re  Shut:,  laftt  ibu  nidjt  burd) ; 

©rftedjt  tbit  efT  — 3d)  mid  bent  23uben  nad), 

3)emt  ber  ift  ein  uerbammter  |mnb. 

25  [Montano  unb  ©ratiauo  aO. 

Dtb.  3d)  bin  and)  nidjt  nt ebr  tabfer: 

9cein,  jeber  minfge  5lttabT  entfiibrt  mein  ©djmert. 

$Ba§  foil  aud)  ©ijre  Stugenb  uberleben?  — 

3al)rr  alley  bin! 

GO  ©mil.  2Ba§  beutete  beiit  &ieb? 

£mrft  bu  nttd)  nod)?  3d)  mill  bem  ©djmane  gleid) 

3tt  SSobllaut  fterben.  SBeibe,  SBeibe,  2Beibe!  — 

Mobr,  fie  mar  feufd);  fie  liebte  bid),,  Karbari 
@o  merbe  §eil  mir,  al§  id)  2Babrbeit  $euge; 

35  Unb,  rebenb  mie  id)  benle,  fterb’  id)  — fterbr  id).  [@te  ftirfit 
£)tl).  3d)  bobr  nod)  einen  S)egen  bier  im  gtntmer, 

©§  ift  ein  fbanifd)  ©djmert,  in  ©i§  geljartet. 

$ba,  bier  iff§!  — Dbehn,  id)  mu|  t)inau§. 

©rat.  (brauBert)  2Benn  bu’§  nerfud)ft,  mirft  bu  e§ tetter  bitften, 

ib  ®u  bift  mebrloS  unb  mufti  bid)  untermerfen. 

O tb-  j5o  tomm  benn  bier  herein  unb  fprid)  mit  mir, 

©onft  mit  ber  nacften  3auft  fair  id)  bid)  an. 

©rat.  (im  §ereiutreten)  2Ba§  mitlft  bu  mir? 


89 


12 


OTHELLO. 


Oth.  Behold,  I have  a weapon; 

A better  never  did  itself  sustain 

Upon  a soldier-s  thigh:  I’ve  seen  the  day 

That  with  this  little  arm  and  this  good  sword, 

5 Fve  made  my  way  through  more  impediments 
Than  twenty  times  your  stop:  but,  0 vain  boast! 

Who  can  control  his  fate?  ’tis  not  so  now. 

Be  not  afraid,  though  you  do  see  me  w'eapon’d; 

Here  is  my  journey’s  end,  here  is  my  butt, 

10  And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 

Do  you  go  back  dismay’d?  ’tis  a lost  fear; 

Man  but  a rush  against  Othello’s  breast, 

And  he  retires: — where  should  Othello  go? — 

Now,  how  dost  thou  look  now?  0 ill-starr’d  wench! 

15  Bale  as  thy  smock!  when  we  shall  meet  at  compt, 
This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 

And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it.  Cold,  cold,  my  girl! 

Even  like  thy  chastity. — 

0 cursed,  cursed  slave! — Whip  me,  ye  devils, 

20  From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight! 

Blow  me  about  in  winds!  roast  me  in  sulphur! 

Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire! 

0 Desdemona!  Desdemona!  dead! 

Oh!  Oh!  Oh! 

25  Enter  Lodovico,  Montano,  Cassio  carried  in  a chair , and 
Officers  with  Iago,  prisoner. 

Lod.  Where  is  this  rash  and  most  unfortunate  man? 

Oth.  That’s  he  that  was  Othello;  here  I am. 

Lod.  Where  is  that  viper?  bring  the  villain  forth. 

30  Oth.  I look  down  towards  his  feet ; but  that’s  a fable. 

If  that  thou  be’st  a devil,  I cannot  kill  thee. 

[ Wounds  Iago. 

Lod.  Wrench  his  sword  from  him.  [Othello  is  disarmed. 
Iago.  I bleed,  sir;  but  not  kill’d. 

35  Oth.  I am  not  sorry  neither:  I’d  have  thee  live; 

For,  in  my  sense,  ’tis  happiness  to  die. 

Lod.  0 thou  Othello,  that  wert  once  so  good, 

Fall’n  in  the  practice  of  a damned  slave, 

What  shall  be  said  to  thee? 

40  Oth . Why,  any  thing: 

An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will; 

For  naught  I did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour. 

Lod.  This  wretch  hath  part  confess’d  his  villany. 

Did  you  and  he  consent  in  Cassio’s  death? 

90 


Otljetto. 


£)tfe.  ©iefe  feer,  id)  feab7  etrt  ©cfemert! 

©in  beffreg  feat  nod)  nie  gefdfmitdt  bie  giifte 
©ineg  ©otbaten.  Sofet  mar  einft  ber  Sag, 

So  mir  ber  Heine  Sent,  bieg  gute  ©cfemert 
5 Sen  Stggang  fcfjafffext  burefe  mefer  §inbernig, 

Stg  ^mansigmat  bent  gmattg.  eitleg  $*cifelen! 

Ser  tenft  fein  ©djidfat?  Sag  ift  jefet  Oorbei.  — 

©eib  nid)t  erfd)redt,  ob  ifer  bemefert  utid)  fet)t ; 

§ier  ift  mein  Sfteifeftiet,  mein  Stferfetafe, 

10  Sie  fernfte  ©eentarf  fitr  ntein  rufeenb  ©d)iff. 

Srittft  bit  priid  in  gurdjt?  Su  bangft  umfonft; 

QitcT  nur  ein  ©cfeilfrofer  aitf  Dtfee'ttog  SBruft, 

©r  meidjt  ifent.  Sofein  fottf  Dtfeelto  gefe’tt? 
v Sfe,  mte  fiefeft  bu  nun  aitg,  o tub  beg  3 a miners, 

15  $81eicf)  mie  bein  Sucfe!  Seittt  mir  ant  Sferon  erfefeeinen, 
Sirb  bieg  bein  23itb  ntid)  fort  Oorn  fmnutet  fefeteubern, 

So  gurien  ntid)  ergreifen.  $att,  ntein  SOftibcfeen? 

Sie  beine  ^eufcfefeeit! 

£ bit  nerftucfeter  ©HaoM  ^eitfefet  ntid),  ifer  Seufet, 

20  Seg  non  bem  Stbticf  biefer  i)intntelgfd)onfeeit!  ' 

©tiirmt  mid)  in  Sirbetn!  Oioftet  ntid)  in  ©dfeoefel! 

Safd)t  tnid)  in  tie  fen  ©cfetimben  ffitff’ger  ©tut! 

£ Segbentoita,  Segbentoita,  tot? 

Sot?  £!  ol  o! 

25  SoDofcico,  ©affio,  ber  gefiifjrt  luirb,  Montano,  ^5 a g o <35e= 
femgenee  intb  Offt&iere. 

Sob.  So  ift  ber  rafd)e,  feoefeft  unfeFge  9Dxanu? 

£)tfe.  §ier  ftefet,  ber  einft  Othello  mar;  feier  bin  id). 

Sob.  So  ift  bie  Matter?  giifert  ben  SBuben  nor! 

30  Dife.  get)  fefer  ifent  auf  ben  gufe;  bod)  bag  ift  gabel  — 

23ift  bit  ein  Seufet,  tann  id)  bid)  nid)t  tbten. 

[Dtfjetlo  bei'Umnbet  ben  Sago 

Sob.  Sftefemt  ifent  fein  ©cfemert! 

gago.  get)  btute,  boefe  id)  tebe. 

35  Dtfe.  ©onft  tfecif  eg  mir  aud)  teib.  Su  foUft  nod)  teben  ; 
Senn  mie  id)  fitter,  ift  Sob  ©tiidfetigteit. 

Sob.  £ bit,  Othello ! fonft  fo  grofe  itnb  gut, 

Umgarnt  non  ©cfetingen  eineg  SBofemicfetg! 

Sa§  foil  ntan  non  btr  fagen? 

40  Dtfe.  Sag  man  milt: 

Safe  idj  ein  eferenOotter  Berber  fei ; 

Senn  niefetg  tfeat  id)  aug'^afe,  fitr  ©fere  atteg. 

Sob.  .gatb  feat  ber  ©Han’  fein  SBubenftiicf  befanitt. 
fiabt  ifer  mit  ifettt  in  ©affiorg  Sob  gemi'ttigt? 

90  12* 


OTHELLO 


Oth.  Ay. 

Cas.  Dear  general,  I never  gave  you  cause 

Oth.  I do  believe  it,  and  I ask  your  pardon. 

Will  you,  I pray,  demand  that  demi-devil 
5 Why  he  hath  thus  ensnar’d  my  soul  and  body? 

/ago.  Demand  me  nothing:  what  you  know,  you  know: 
From  this  time  forth  I never  will  speak  word. 

Lod.  What,  not  to  pray? 

Gra.  Torments  will  ope  your  lips. 

10  Oth.  Well,  thou  dost  best. 

Lod.  Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befall’n, 
Which,  as  I think,  you  know  not.  Here’s  a letter 
Found  in  the  pocket  of  the  slain  Roderigo; 

And  here  another:  the  one  of  them  imports 
15  The  death  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo. 

Oth.  0 villain ! 

Cas.  Most  heathenish  and  most  gross! 

Lod.  Now  here’s  another  discontented  paper, 

20  Found  in  his  pocket  too;  and  this,  it  seems, 

Roderigo  meant  to  have  sent  this  damned  villain; 

But  that,  belike,  lago  in  the  interim 
Came  in  and  satisfied  him. 

Oth.  0 the  pernicious  caitiff! — 

25  How  came  you,  Cassio,  by  that  handkerchief 
That  was  my  wife’s? 

Cas.  I found  it  in  my  chamber: 

And  he  himself  confess’d  but  even  now 
That  there  he  dropp’d  it  for  a special  purpose 
30  Which  wrought  to  his  desire. 

Oth.  ' 0 fool!  fool!  fool! 

Cas.  There  is  besides  in  Roderigo’s  letter, 

How  he  upbraids  lago,  that  he  made  him 
Brave  me  upon  the  watch ; whereon  it  came 
35  That  I was  cast:  and  even  but  now  he  spake, 

(After  long  seeming  dead),  lago  hurt  him, 
lago  set  him  on. 

Lod.  You  must  forsake  this  room,  and  go  with  us: 

Your  power  and  your  command  is  taken  off, 

40  And  Cassio  rules  in  Cyprus.  For  this  slave, 

If  there  be  any  cunning  cruelty 

That  can  torment  him  much  and  hold  him  long, 

It  shall  be  his.  You  shall  close  prisoner  rest, 

Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  be  known 
91 


OTHELLO. 


To  the  Venetian  state.  Come,  bring  away. 

Oth.  Soft  you;  a word  or  two  before  you  go. 

I’ve  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know’t. 

No  more  of  that. — I pray  you,  in  your  letters, 

5 When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 

Speak  of  me  as  I am;  nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice:  then  must  you  speak 
Of  one  that  lov’d  not  wisely,  but  too  well; 

Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 

10  Perplex’d  in  the  extreme;  of  one  whose  hand, 

Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a pearl  away 

Eicher  than  all  his  tribe;  of  one  whose  subdued  eyes, 

Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 
15  Their  med’cinable  gum.  Set  you  down  this, 

And  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once, 

Where  a malignant  and  a turban’d  Turk 
Beat  a Venetian  and  traduced  the  state, 

I took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog, 

20  And  smote  him — thus.  [ Stabs  himself  with  a dagger. 

Lod.  0 bloody  period! 

Gra.  All  that’s  spoke  is  marr’d. 

Oth . I kiss’d  thee  ere  I kill’d  thee:  no  way  but  this, 

[Falling  upon  Desdemona. 
25  Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a kiss.  [Dies. 

Cas.  This  did  I fear,  but  thought  he  had  no  weapon ; 

For  he  was  great  of  heart. 

Lod.  [To  IagoJ  0 Spartan  dog, 

More  fell  than  anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea! 

30  Look  on  the  tragic  loading  of  this  bed; 

This  is  thy  work:  the  object  poisons  sight; 

Let  it  be  hid.  Gratiano,  keep  the  house, 

And  seize  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  Moor, 

For  they  succeed  on  you. — 

35  r To  Cassio.]  To  you,  lord  governor, 

Eemains  the  censure  of  this  hellish  villain; 

The  time,  the  place,  the  torture,  — 0,  enforce  it! 

Myself  will  straight  aboard,  and  to  the  state 

This  heavy  act  with  heavy  heart  relate.  [Exeunt. 


02 


Ctfjcllo. 


£)tl).  %a. 

(£af.  Xeurer  $nxf  ict)  gab  end)  niemal§  ®runb. 

Dti  3d)  glaub'  e§  mtb  id)  biit^  tint  bein  ^er^eib'n. 

28odt'  ibr  Oon  biefem  Teufel  mobl  erfragen, 

5 Saturn  er  6eeP  unb  Seib  mir  fo  nerftrteft? 

3a go.  gragtmid)  um  nid)t§  mebr;  ma3  tf)r  roi^t,  ba§ unfit ; 

•$8on  bicfer  0tunb*  an  rebe  id)  letn  28ort. 

Sob.  28a§?  9^icf)t  pm  23eten? 

®rat.  goiter  mirb  bidf'S  lebren. 

10  £)tfi.  ®ut,  bu  tbuft  fo  am  beften. 

Sob.  3br  font  erfabren,  £>err,  \va%  ftcb  begab; 

9?od)  glaubr  id),  unfit  U)r*§  nid)t:  §ier  ift  ein  $8rief, 

£)er  fid)  in  9Roberigo§  £afd)e  fanb, 

Unb  bier  ein  peiter.  3ener  bort  entbalt, 

15  28ie  ^Hoberigo  aufgeforbert  marb 
3u  (£affio§  2:ob. 

£)  t b-  9Ud)t§miirbiger ! 

(£af.  -&ocbft  beibnifd),  b^cf)ft  oerrud)t! 

Sob.  (£in  anb'rer  $rief,  tierftimmt  unb  boiler  Q^eifet 
20  ©efunben  and)  bei  ibm;  unb  biefen,  fd)eint% 

28olftr  D^oberigo  an  ben  0d)urfen  fenben; 

$E)od)  tarn  inbe§  mobl  3a9°  felbft  p ibm, 

3bn  &u  berub'gen. 

D t b.  9Jieud)lerifd)er  §unb!  — 

25  2Bie  !amft  bu,  (£affio,  benn  p jenem  Xud) 

$on  meiner  grau?  — 

(£af.  3d)  fanb’3  aitf  meirtent  garner; 

Unb  er  geftanb  in  biefeut  SXugenblicf 
£>afi  er’£  bort  fallen  liefi  ou§  eigner  2lbfid)t, 

30  Qu  fcblecbtem  Qmed. 

Dtb-  £>  £bor!  0 bibber  ST^or ! 

(£af.  Zann  ferner  ftebt  in  sJtoberigo§  S3rief 
*3)er  $ormurf,  toie  ibn  3ogo  aufgebefrt, 

90Ur  auf  ber  28ad)t  p trofien,  n>a§  bemirfte, 

35  $afi  id)  entfefit  marb,  unb  nod)  fagf  er  ebett 
(@nt)ad)t  bom  0d)eintob),  bafi  ilp  3a9°  ieip 
?D?ict)  anpfallett,  unb  ibn  bann  erftacb- , 

Sob.  3br  miifit  iefit  mit  un§  bie(e§  §au § berlaffen, 

©eroatt  unb  $5ollmad)t  finb  end)  abgenommen; 

40  (£affio  befieblt  in  (Spern.  liefer  '^ube  — 

©iebf§  irgenb  eine  red)t  gefd)arfte  barter, 

Zk  lang’  ibn  t)int)Ult  unb  erfinbrrifdt)  qualt, 

Zk  fei  fiir  ibn.  3br  bleibt  in  ftrenger  fpaft, 

93i3  itber  eure  Zfyat  bericfitet  marb 

91 


Otsego. 


&em  ©taat  $8enebig§.  ©efjt,  imb  fii^rt  iljnmeg! 

£)tfr  ©emad) ! — 9?ur  nod)  ?>mei  SBorte,  tty  ip  gep. 

3d)  pat  ^enebig  mand)en  ®ien ft,  man  meif$  e§: 

9Hd)t§  mep  baton  — Qn  enren  SBriefen,  bitt7  id), 

5 2£enn  pr  ton  biefern  Unveil  $unbe  gebt, 

6ped)t  ton  mir,  mie  ip  bin  — terneinert  nid)t§, 

9?od)  fe^t  in  SBopeit  ^u.  3)ann  miifjt  pr  metben 
$on  eiriem,  ber  nid)t  Hug,  bod)  §u  fep  tiebte; 

•Diipt  teid)t  argmopte,  bod),  einmat  erregt, 

10  Unenblip  rafte:  ton  einem,  beffen  §anb, 

$em  niebern  Qitben  gleip,  bie  $erle  megmarf, 

SSftep  inert  al§  all7  fein  SBolf;  beff7  ubermunb7ne§  2(uge, 
©onft  nid)t  geinobnt  p fpmepen,  fid)  ergeup 
3n  Xpanen,  itie  9(rabien§  Canine  tau7n 
15  s$on  ^eUungSfrdffgem  23alfant  — fdjreibt  ba§  a fte£; 

Unb  fiigt  pn&u,  baf)  in  ^llepo,  mo 

(Sin  giffger  iiirf  in  ppm  Durban  einft 

7nen  SBenetianer  jd)tug  unb  fcf>alt  ben  ©taat,  — 

3d)  ben  befd)nitt7nen  §unb  am  £>at§  ergriff 
20  Hub  traf  ibjn  — jo!  ' [®r  crftid|t  fitf). 

Sob.  £)  blut7ge§  ©nbe! 

©rat.  Umjonjt  nun  itnjer  28ort. 

Ottj.  3p  flifjte  bid), 

©P  id)  bir  £ob  gab  — nun  fei  bie§  ber  6plujr. 

25  SI Rid)  fetber  tbteno,  fterb7  ip  jo  im  ®ujs. 

©af.  ©)ie§  fiird)tet7  id)  — bod)  gtaubt7  pn  ope  2£affen  — 
S)enn  er  mar  ppgefinnt. 

Sob.  ©prtan’jdjer  ,£mnb, 

SBerberbliper  at§  hunger,  $ejt  unb  9tteer! 

30  0d)au  bort  bie  trag7fc^e  SBiirbe  bieje§  $3ett§: 

©)a§  ijt  bein  SBerf ! $>a§  2tug7  erliegt  bem  9(nbiid; 
1Bert)uHt  i§n ! 3P,  ©ratiano,  bleibt  im  0d)lo§ 

Unb  netpt  be§  ^ftopen  ©iiter  in  $3efd)tag. 

©)enn  pr  beerbt  pn. 

35  (3u  (Saffio.)  ©ud),  §err  ©outerneur, 

Siegt  ob  ba§  Urteil  biefe§  pIFfpen  SBuben; 

3)ie  Qeit,  ber  Drt,  bie  barter,  — fpfirft,  o fparft  fie  pm!  — 

3d)  mitt  jogteid)  an  $8orb  unb  bem  6enat 

Sttit  jpmerem  §er§en  fun  ben  fpmere  £pt.  [sure  getjen  ab 


* 


{ 


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